The Narrative Strain
by The Noble Arduenna
Summary: What was truth, and what was fiction?
1. The End and the Beginning

_A/N: Consider this an experiment— untested, unproved, and a bit AU. I'm a lover of horror, so I've brought it to Oz. Hope you're willing to join me for the ride, as it isn't much fun riding alone._

_I'll say in advance that this story will contain violence, disturbing imagery, and character deaths, but hopefully we can soften that up with some good ol' fashioned Elphaba/Glinda romance. The rating starts at T, but I may have to notch it up if things get out of hand. _

_Much thanks to my super-awesome beta, Navona, whose own work can be found here at FFN under "Navona." _

_This chapter will be familiar territory for most of you, but stick with me. I'll show you something new. *winks*_

* * *

The End and the Beginning

_She tucks the sickle moon in her patient purse._

_She bears it out, a full-grown changeling stone._

_Shard by shard she rearranges the world._

_It looks the same, she says, but it is not._

_It looks as they expect, but it is not._

-Wicked, p. 226

In the weeks, months, or even years to come when many would chance to recall the events of that day at the end of August's lull, it was hardly uncommon for colorful elucidations and embellished descriptions to captivate the narratives of every storyteller. The sky was described to have been tinged with red, the song of the sparrows was a mournful dirge, and the wind was sharp and chill for such an unusual time of the year. Details would fluctuate depending on the narrator, not to mention their audience, and those who hadn't actually been there were regaled with several different accounts of what had transpired the morning Dr. Dillamond's body was found.

Galinda, however, would remember it like it had been any other morning, as ordinary and unremarkable as any that had preceded it.

Well, _almost_.

It had, in fact, marked the first day of fall semester at Shiz University and Galinda's second year attending. A great many changes were thus anticipated after the summer holidays: new schedules, new classes, and of course, a new set of expectations. But it was the small, seemingly inconsequential variations in the standard routine of everyday life that were often the most significant, and this had been no exception. Ama Clutch, breaking custom for the first time since Galinda could ever remember, had failed to bring her the tea that morning.

The students at Crage Hall were finishing their breakfast when the clock struck the eighth hour of the day. Galinda was sitting at the windowsill on the second floor of the dining hall, looking out over the Shiz campus grounds in what had apparently become her customary morning meditation. A book was usually settled across her lap to suggest a purpose for her solitary seclusion, but most of the time she just looked out of the window, allowing her mind to wander in a habitually aimless fashion.

The sun filtered brightly through the glass, and she warmed under its rays with her legs tucked neatly beneath her skirts. She wondered, not for the last time, where on earth her Ama might have been, though chiefly uppermost in her thoughts was the question of whether or not she, Galinda, was really and truly prepared for the new year that lay ahead of her. After all, if Galinda could encapsulate her life up to that point in a single word, it would simply have been disappointment. All of the promise she initially held the minute she'd stepped off the train from Frottica had amounted to several semesters' worth of mediocre academic accomplishments and a social circle that left something _severely_ wanting.

It wasn't as though she felt like she had failed herself in the strictest definition of the word (she _had_ been accepted to Shiz after all), but there still lingered a profound sense of dissatisfaction that pressed itself into every fiber of her being. Perhaps it was the fact that her family had placed so much faith in her, expecting scholastic perfection to match her flawless exterior. Everyone obviously had great plans for her, including Galinda herself. But somehow her aspirations and ideals had fallen by the wayside in a never-ending series of personal frustrations, and it surely didn't help that Galinda had to accept a _measure_ of responsibility for them herself. Even her friends, as best she could call them, had proven themselves to be false if not largely unsupportive. Their malicious cruelty towards her at Lake Chorge had made her summer holidays nearly unbearable.

And her roommate…

Well.

That was an entirely different problem all of its own.

Galinda leaned her head against the warm glass of the window, her thoughts turning once more to her green companion, which, as of late, they seemed most fond of doing.

It wasn't often that Galinda felt remorse for expressing outrage over an upsetting situation (especially when she believed herself justified in doing so), and it wasn't as if Elphaba had been any less horrible to her since the first day they'd met. But Galinda did feel sorry for the remarks she'd made to her that day at Caprice-in-the-Pines, particularly in light of the mortification her roommate must have endured responding to a letter that she had never actually written. Galinda had been humiliated, certainly, but Elphaba was ultimately the punch-line of what had been a thoroughly tasteless joke.

And yet, the girl had borne it all as capably as she'd had to bear everything else in her life; staring them all down with frank and unwavering resolve, no matter how hideous the circumstances had been. Galinda couldn't help but respect her for it, all things considered, and after she'd had a few days perspective on the whole ordeal, she found herself feeling more and more contrite for her own portion of the offense. Perhaps she should apologize, or offer to take her to lunch sometime. Elphaba wasn't exactly the social pariah Galinda once took her for when they'd been assigned to each other over a year ago. Elphie- _now where had that come from? _- Elphaba appeared to have her own curious assortment of companions; all boys, all very handsome, and strangely very devoted to her thoughts, ambitions, and ideals. Had there been more to the girl than she'd previously assumed?

Biting into the flesh of a green apple and savoring its tartness on her tongue, she continued her silent contemplation, little aware that the girl in question had suddenly approached her from behind.

"I've spoken to the other Amas," said Elphaba, startling Galinda from her thoughts. "No one has seen or heard from her since the previous evening, including the kitchen staff."

"What do you think we should do?" asked Galinda as she stood and adjusted her skirts.

"The last thing that I'd hoped we'd have to do. Pay a visit to Madame Head and inform her of the situation."

Galinda quickly gathered her belongings and fell into step with Elphaba. "Surely you don't believe that something sinister has befallen her?"

"I don't know. I'd like to think that she's sauced and reeling at the back of a bar in some dive at Railway Square—you never know what these ladies get up to on their own time. But I haven't felt right about it since she left us last night, and in either case, Horrible Morrible is likely to be our surest bet at finding some answers."

Elphaba's plan proved to be a fruitful one. Their Headmistress was good enough to inform them that Ama Clutch _had_ been discovered and that she was being treated at the infirmary for a mental relapse of some sort. The news was quite a relief to both girls if not a bit alarming, but Galinda and Elphaba were noticeably less comforted when Madame Morrible, in all of her authoritarian judiciousness, refused to admit them to see her.

"You needn't fret, she is plenty well taken care of where she is," said the Head in a tone that would brook no nonsense. "I'll inform you if there is a change in her condition that would permit the possibility of visitations, but until then, I would advise you to drop the matter for now and hurry off to your classes. You don't want to evince a casual disregard for punctuality on the first day of school, do you?" Her smile was thin and insincere.

It wasn't what either of them wanted to hear, but they grudgingly consented when it became clear that Madame Morrible had no intention of relenting. They left the office as promptly as they'd come, gathering their bags and notebooks together before setting off for the science building. Galinda was nettled, though she couldn't fully explain why. Something about the whole affair seemed off to her, whether it was the mental malady suddenly besetting her Ama or something _far_ worse… an ominous, unnamable dread that she'd been unable to accurately identify.

When they arrived at Dr. Dillamond's first lecture, they were surprised to discover that he hadn't arrived yet, given that they were already five minutes late themselves. Galinda had thought it a sign of curiously good luck at first, taking the seat her friends had saved for her near the back. But as the period went on and no sign of the Goat was had, the students started growing restless, and the strange sense of unease she'd felt earlier had returned.

"Where do you think he's gone?" said a voice near the front.

"Maybe he's having a time of it trying to get his pants on," said another, setting off a chorus of raucous laughter.

Galinda looked over at Elphaba, who was sitting a few seats in front of her, and noticed there was a similar look of marked unease on her features.

"This is ridiculous," said Pfannee, slouching over in her chair. "The first day of school and he couldn't even bother to be here, much less notify anyone of his absence!"

"Perhaps it's some sort of protest," said Milla, her chin resting thoughtfully in her hand. "You know, in light of the new Animal banns."

"What a stupid way to object," said Shenshen. "Provoke the administration by neglecting your lectures and giving them a reason to _fire_ you? Whatever might he hope to accomplish?"

Galinda was about to respond when she looked up to see Elphaba standing beside her desk, arms folded and looking even more cross than she had before.

"I'm going to the infirmary," said Elphaba determinedly. "Are you coming or not?"

Galinda gaped at her in wide-eyed astonishment. "You mean _now?_"

"He's not coming, Galinda, and if I stay here a minute longer, I'm liable to kick someone's teeth in. So I'm going to see Ama Clutch. You can either come with me or stay here for more clever witticisms from this sorry lot."

Galinda couldn't believe it; Elphaba was being serious. Her roommate was actually suggesting that they abandon Dr. Dillamond's lecture to visit Ama Clutch against Madame Morrible's orders. Galinda opened her mouth to speak, unsure of what to say, and risked a glance towards her friends. They stared at them both with a mixture of shock and mild, derisive interest.

Casting off her better judgment, she quickly gathered up her things and followed Elphaba out the door.

This new year was going to be _very_ different. Very different indeed.

* * *

The infirmary was located on the north side of campus in a small building that had been christened after the Eminent Sibelius Felque, one of the earliest pioneers of intravenous medicines in Oz. Galinda had never set foot in the building in her entire year at Shiz, so it was with a small amount of apprehension that she followed Elphaba into the main reception room.

There was a cold, clinical smell to the place that she found particularly nauseating; a mixture of cleansers, medicinal drafts, and illness. She waited nervously while Elphaba sorted through some charts and papers at the front desk, working frantically to locate the room Ama Clutch was staying in before the nurse manager returned. It was some minutes before Elphaba stalked back over to where Galinda was standing, and her face was set in grim frustration.

"I don't like this," she said, motioning Galinda to follow her up the hall. "Not one bit. Not at all. There was a note attached to her chart specifying that all visitations are prohibited until such-and-such a time as the Headmistress deems available. It's utterly ludicrous."

"But why so much secrecy?" said Galinda, running to keep up. "What do they mean to keep from us?"

"Who knows? But I certainly intend to find out. Here, this one. Room thirty-three."

They walked into what was a large expanse of beds and carts that stretched a ways towards a small alcove poorly lit at the back. A few patients were scattered about in different stages of consciousness, mumbling and writhing for relief from their pain or merely for the use of a bed pan. Galinda and Elphaba moved past the different beds, trying not to linger near some of the more miserable subjects. When Galinda finally caught sight of her Ama resting a few cots down, however, a small cry escaped from her lips as she rushed over to her. Elphaba was right behind her, though her expression was distinctly grimmer.

"Oh my darling!" Galinda sobbed, clutching her Ama's hand in hers while pushing a strand of her hair back. "My darling! What's happened to you?"

The old woman said nothing. Her face was contorted into a gruesome shape, and her eyes were rolled up towards the ceiling— open and unfocused on any given thing. Galinda turned to Elphaba with a look of hopeless incredulity, and Elphaba looked every bit as concerned.

"Ama Clutch," said Elphaba, her words slow and even. "Can you hear me, dear? We need to know what's wrong."

There was still no response. No sign of life at all.

"Is she asleep?" asked Galinda nervously. "Has she gone into shock?"

Elphaba held a few fingers in front of Ama Clutch's mouth. "Her breathing seems even, and her color is good. I don't know what this is," she said, at a loss. "She's not even flinching."

"Ama Clutch," Galinda said, now kneeling beside the mattress. "If you can hear me, please say something. _Please_. Let us know you're there. We can't help you if we don't know what's wrong."

Silence. The old woman remained motionless on her bed, still and unblinking. Whatever hopes they'd had of rousing her were starting to look like a lost cause.

"We'd better leave," Elphaba said after some time had passed. "I can't think of what else to try. Perhaps if we come back tomorrow, we can consult with the nursing staff. Morrible may even be gracious enough to let us see her without all this sneaking about."

Galinda bit her lip, glancing down at her Ama again, then finally nodded her consent. Sighing deeply, she let go of her Ama's hand and turned to follow Elphaba out of the room. "I just don't understand it. She was the very picture of health last night. Do you think if-"

"Oh well then," came a weak and giddy voice behind them. "I know you didn't mean to stab my foot last year. You were only trying to get my attention. That's what misbehavior is all about, just a little extra loving being asked for."

The girls turned instantly to see Ama Clutch sitting up in bed with what appeared to be a nail clasped in her hands. She stroked it lovingly as if it were a child, and then held it against her cheek. Elphaba and Galinda exchanged glances, their faces mirroring their confusion.

"Ama?" Galinda spoke.

"Well don't you worry, Nail, because I'm going to love you just as much as you need," the old woman continued. "And after I have a little nap you can tell me how you came to be holding up the platform of the railway station at Frottica. For it seems quite a leap from your early years as a common hook for a CLOSED FOR THE SEASON sign in that dingy hotel you were talking about."

"She's talking to the nail," Elphaba whispered, quite clearly befuddled.

"Is she out of her mind?" said Glinda. "Why would-"

But Glinda stopped herself. Something had suddenly dawned on her, and a look of horror crossed over her features. She rushed over to Ama Clutch's bed again, reaching out for the nail that her Ama grasped in her hand.

"Ama Clutch," she said in a hurried voice, "listen—you're talking nonsense. I want you to give me the nail, and then I want you to tell me what happened last night."

"You get back!" her Ama hissed, clenching the nail against her breast in a tight fist. "The springs of this bed are going to give out on me any second now, and I've yet to plead my case!"

The shock of her bizarre and perplexing behavior left Galinda and Elphaba speechless. Elphaba stared at her in pure disbelief, but Glinda was perfectly horror-struck.

"Ama—"

"They want me off!" screamed Ama Clutch as she thrashed about in her sheets. "This bed is fit to swallow me whole! The sheets, the pillows, they're completely fed up!"

"Stop!" Galinda cried, grasping her Ama's hand in her own. "Ama Clutch— _Stop!_ Don't you realize what are you saying?"

"The cupboards are talking!" she yelled again, sinking her fingernails into Galinda's sleeve before tearing skin and fabric. "I'm telling them all to SHUT UP but they none of them will listen! If you won't shut up, I'll be certain to drive my little Nail friend right through you! Do you understand?"

"Get a nurse in here!" Elphaba yelled to a young orderly peering in from the hall. She pulled Galinda back out of Ama Clutch's reach, but Galinda was nearly hysterical now, fighting off Elphaba's grasp before rushing to take her Ama's hand again.

"No! Look at me, Ama! Please look at me! Dear, this isn't you! Why are you doing this? What has happened to you? Tell me—tell me what happened!"

And then the woman laughed aloud with a deranged sort of cackle. Her shriek rang out across the room and froze the hairs on Galinda's arms. A hand reached up, and Ama Clutch grasped Galinda by the neck. She brought their faces close together, and Galinda could smell the madness on her. It was making her sick.

"Oh my little deary duck," she whispered next to Galinda's ear. "My pretty little Galindy-loo. Don't you know? _I saw it all_. I watched the whole scene. Only one survived, my lovely… _but the other one burned_."

Galinda jerked back from the old woman's grasp as if she had been struck. She stared at her Ama in wide-eyed horror as the blood quickly drained from her face. It turned her skin an ashen grey, and she looked as though she were about to faint.

"Galinda?" Elphaba said, slowly inching towards her.

Galinda shook her head, still mute with terror.

"What are you doing in here? What have you done with her?" yelled the nurse who had entered with two orderlies attending. "Get back, the both of you! Get out of here! We have to bolt her down!"

"My socks!" shrieked Ama Clutch when they grasped a hold of her arms and legs. "They're fussing at me! Get me out of them, do you hear me? GET ME OUT OF THEM."

Galinda ran. Ran beyond Elphaba's grasp and past the shrieking woman. She fled as fast as her legs would carry her, pushing open the doors of the infirmary before tearing past a group of students. She was heedless of which direction she was headed in, or where the wind would carry her. Her only thought was to be free of the infirmary and the madness that sought to condemn her.

* * *

The sun was blazing high overhead when the clock in the library chimed half-past eleven. Galinda had left the infirmary nearly a half-hour earlier, though Elphaba was still nowhere to be seen. She stood near the windows on the third story floor, staring out at the infirmary building as if it were on fire. She ignored the questioning looks from her peers while running her fingers over her necklace. She was glad, at least, that Elphaba hadn't followed her. What would she have been able to say?

Galinda wept, openly and freely. The possibility of Ama Clutch suddenly plagued with a made-up illness seemed too queer and repulsive for Galinda to consider. What could have caused it? Why would she have whispered something to Galinda that was so unbelievably horrible? The words, half-sung in that sweet, raspy voice, had truly disturbed something within her; the shadowy images of a memory that she had left behind far too many years ago.

But to remember them here and now, of all places—what could it possibly mean?

_After all of this time…_

While in this frame of mind, she had barely noticed the sudden gathering of students in the courtyard below; a mass of bodies that quickly blended together as they headed in quick succession towards the southeast end of campus. A slight frown graced her features as she watched them from above, silently wondering what on earth the commotion was all about. Then, almost instantly, she quickly became aware of the noisy bustle of skirts and voices that took up over the room, crashing through her senses as the library descended into chaos. There was a rush of people heading towards the stairs, and the shrill cries of shock, giddiness, and horror masked the tangle of words that Galinda occasionally made out over the din.

"…_body covered in blood…"_

"…_found just now…" _

"…_Dr. Dillamond…"_

"…_sometime in the night…"_

She could only process a handful of it.

Galinda stepped over to the nearest procession heading for the stairs and managed to stop one of the groups that was chattering the loudest.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's going on?"

"The old Goat's dead!" said a young Gillikin girl, clearly delighted to share the news with her. "Dr. Dillamond! Professor Hellaford discovered him in the lab a little over an hour ago, and they're calling it murder! Can you believe it?"

Galinda could only stare. "Dead_?_"

"As dead as dead can be!" came another girl's excited reply. "The police have arrived and they're already meeting with Madame Morrible at the old building. We're going there now, if you'd care to join us."

An arm was looped through hers, and suddenly Galinda was being rushed forward with all of the others in a flurry of skirts and ribbons. She permitted herself to be guided by the small troupe of girls flooding through the corridors, allowing the tide of bodies to move her in whichever direction was the correct one. Comprehension was practically beyond her at that moment; there was simply no way for her to process anything in the excitement and chatter that drowned out every other thought. All she could do was follow. All she could do was move.

They streamed outside into the daylight, which momentarily blinded her, and the roar of voices had now reached an almost thundering volume. She watched as each of her temporary companions quickly dispersed into the crowds. Everyone, both in and around Crage Hall, was rushing across the center of campus in an effort to make their way outside the gates. Galinda quickly became lost in the sea of frocks and cloaks, wandering helplessly in the mob of bodies that surrounded her on all sides. She searched the faces around her with a nervous desperation she didn't understand, anxiously looking for someonethat was familiar to her while wondering when she'd started to cry again.

_Dead,_ she thought with a violent shudder. _It's not possible. It simply can't be. But how? Why? _

A rough shoulder slammed clumsily into her, pushing her to the ground. Galinda momentarily panicked, striving to push past the sudden accumulation of skirts and limbs that threatened to trample her into the dirt. And then, from out of nowhere, a green hand reached through to clasp hers, and suddenly she was being pulled through the crowds in a fast, forceful hold. The grip was neither gentle nor kind, but to Galinda, it felt like salvation. She clutched Elphaba's hand in hers, wanting but unwilling to show the gratitude she felt as they weaved in and out of the multitude. The grounds near the gate were as packed as ever, but Galinda remained calm so long as her gaze was fixed on the tall figure in front of her.

"Galinda! Miss Elphaba! Over here!"

They both turned. A small group of Galinda's companions were standing under the pear tree near Crage Hall, each with a look of undisguised horror on their faces. Elphaba quickly let go of Galinda's hand, and Galinda was unsure whether she felt more relieved or disappointed for it.

"We've been looking everywhere for you!" Shenshen scolded, looking positively distraught. "Where have—"

"What have you heard!" Elphaba sharply cut in, suddenly towering over Shenshen. "How long have they been in there for? What have they discovered?"

"Only what you've heard," said Milla, her face a sallow white. "He was found slumped over a pile of shattered instruments near the storage cabinets. The police have been in there for a while now, talking with Madame Morrible and Professor Hellaford. It's been a slow business. They said there was blood everywhere."

"So it's true?" Galinda asked, her teary gaze wandering over to the police officer standing beside the entrance. Milla only nodded.

"Oh, it's just terrible!" cried Shenshen loudly as she clutched at her breast in dismay. Ama Vimp wrapped the girl in her arms, quietly shushing her as tears fell down her face.

"Has anything been taken?" Elphaba continued in a none-too patient tone. "What of the marks on him? Was he stabbed—shot— beaten to death— _what?"_

"What's _wrong_ with you?" cried Pfannee, disgusted. "A Goat is murdered and you want to gorge yourself on the particulars? Miss Milla was here before any of us were, and she's told you all she knows. So if you insist on speaking of such vileness, Miss Elphaba, then _kindly _go and indulge your morbid fetishes elsewhere!"

Elphaba turned on Pfannee in a rage, barely able to keep her anger under control. "A friend and close companion of mine was just found murdered, you asinine little fool!" she hissed. "I've heard nothing but blood and death from just about every idiot on campus without one _scrap_ of explanation over how or when it was done. So if _you_ have nothing further to offer on the matter, then you're as useless as I've always suspected!"

"Why you disgustingly vile-"

"Enough! Both of you!" said Milla, grabbing Pfannee by the arm to prevent her from striking Elphaba, who looked rather anxious for Pfannee to attempt it. "This isn't solving anything, and I won't have you making a spectacle of yourselves in front of the whole damn school!"

Galinda was beside herself. Everyone was shrieking and anxiously waiting for the front gates to open beyond Crage Hall. She was shaking now, though she couldn't decide what of everything was more horrible. A murdered Goat, a woman sick with delirium, and a few whispered words that struck Galinda down to the deepest depths of her soul.

When the gates finally opened, the girls immediately began to stream into the nearby park. And in the harsh light of the afternoon, with all these thoughts consuming her, Galinda utterly and completely fell apart.

* * *

The hellish commotion carried on for the rest of the afternoon and some time into the night. The majority of the students at Crage Hall retired early to their bedchambers, either too fussed or unwilling to engage in further social discourse. Classes had all been cancelled that day, and Elphaba used the time to procure several items of interest from Dr. Dillamond's laboratory before anyone, student or Headmistress, was the wiser. She did admit that it took an exceptional amount of fortitude on her part to even enter the place with the smell of death still lingering in the air, and it wasn't without some difficulty that she navigated her way around the freshly scrubbed bloodstains near the storage cabinets.

When she managed to make her way back to her room before half-past nine, she was astonished to find Galinda there, sitting on the pillows of her bed while staring into the firelight. Galinda made no indication that she was aware of Elphaba's presence, and Elphaba wasn't inclined to indulge Galinda's misery by mentioning any of the events that had transpired that morning. So neither said a word to the other, and the room lapsed into silence.

Soon, Elphaba was sitting on the floor between their beds, a pile of papers stacked messily on every side of her. She flipped through several notebooks, removing pages from some and clipping them to others, pushing aside the anger in her heart so that she could better focus on the task that lay before her.

_The bastards- the sickening bastards managed to do it. Notes on 'The Paradigm of Related Blood Tissues in Vertebrates and Invertebrates.' There was a second section to this somewhere. Murdering sons of bitches…Can't even read my own damn handwriting!_

It had been well over an hour before she realized that her roommate hadn't uttered a single word since her return. Elphaba wasn't sure that she'd even moved. Galinda merely sat huddled with her knees against her chest, staring at nothing in particular while small tears occasionally made their way down her cheek. She was of a mind to continue ignoring her, feeling it would be better to let Galinda cleanse every ounce of grief from her system while the hurt was still fresh. But the silent horror in Galinda's eyes unnerved her for some reason; it was a look she had carried since the infirmary. Whatever Ama Clutch had said to her must have stricken the girl deeply.

She shook her head, turning back to her notebooks, and then reproached herself for being so Oz-be-damned callous.

_So you don't have a soul. Must you be heartless as well?_

"Galinda," Elphaba spoke.

Her roommate showed no signs of movement. No recognition that she'd even heard her. Elphaba pursed her lips together and tried again.

"Galinda."

The blonde head finally turned.

"Tomorrow will bring new answers," said Elphaba, a bit awkwardly. "For all we know, this could be a passing malady. A temporary ailment. She may yet be all right."

Galinda stared at her with a peculiar, unreadable expression. "Will she."

Was that a question or a challenge? Elphaba wouldn't have put it past her companion to reply to her misguided attempts at comfort with sarcasm, but something in Galinda's expression suggested she was anxiously and authentically _concerned_.

"It's been a long day," said Elphaba, sighing. "You should really get some sleep."

Galinda turned her gaze back to the fire, and the flames reflected luminously in the mirthless blue of her eyes. "I don't know if I can."

"Well you know what they say, my dear; you'll never really know unless you try."

There was a small stretch of silence that passed between the two where Elphaba resumed her work and Galinda quietly watched her. With her attentions curiously focused on Elphaba, it seemed for the time being that Galinda managed to calm a little.

"Can I help?" she asked in a small, timid voice; summoning up a grain of courage from an unknown source.

"No," said Elphaba, and then more gently, "thank you, but this isn't the sort of business you need to be involved in."

Galinda clutched her knees more tightly to her chest. "Are these notes from-"

"Galinda, really, this isn't the time. If you want to be helpful, then settle yourself under the covers and try to forget every ounce of unpleasantness that this day has afforded us."

She'd expected some sort of protest, or worse, more tears than before, but Galinda surprisingly consented to her wishes and solemnly rose to prepare for bed. She undressed discreetly behind a small partition, and the only noise in the room was the soft rustling of Elphaba's papers and the loud clicking of a lock. When Galinda emerged in her blue nightdress, Elphaba was already fastening a cloak about her shoulders.

"You're leaving?" said Galinda in alarm.

"I'm going out," replied Elphaba curtly. "And if anyone asks you, you know nothing about it. Do you understand?" She turned to fetch her hat and gloves, not bothering to wait for a reply.

Galinda looked as if she was wanted to protest, then slumped over in tired resignation. She sat wearily at the foot of her bed, trying not to appear disappointed. "You… won't be long, will you?"

"I don't know. Lock the door if you feel skittish. I have my key."

Elphaba gathered her small briefcase under her cloak and turned to head out the door. She stopped when she saw the distraught profile of her blonde companion, looking quite as lost and miserable as Elphaba currently felt. Maybe it was the day they'd had, or the copious amounts of wine she'd indulged in with Boq and the others earlier, but something about Galinda's demeanor roused Elphaba's compassion, surprising even her.

She slowly walked over to Galinda, stopped, and quietly knelt in front of her. Then, for some unfathomable reason, she placed her hand on Galinda's knee, initiating contact in a way she'd never done before. If her roommate was shocked, she masked it well under a look of sorrow and curious expectation.

"I'm not very good at comfort," said Elphaba softly, offering Galinda a clean white handkerchief, "so forgive me if I disappoint. I can promise you, though, that this day won't last forever, Galinda, no matter how strongly it hurts right now."

She stood then, but not before boldly wiping one of Galinda's tears away, even letting it burn. "And no," Elphaba added as she picked up her briefcase once more. "I won't be gone long."

Galinda looked briefly at the handkerchief in her hand before her gaze found Elphaba's once again. It was clear, honest, and full of something like gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered softly.

They sat there for a moment, sharing something for the first time in all of the moments they had shared together. Then, Elphaba turned and exited the room without another glance.

The door clicked shut a second later, and Galinda was left to the silence.


	2. The Dream

The Dream

_"Given a long enough time, of course, a wide enough frame, there is nothing said or done, ever, that isn't ironic in the end."_

-Wicked, p.119

* * *

Firelight. Stretching up over the canopy of trees and past the rise of sinister mountains towering off in the distance.

There were bonfires spread apart in a wide clearing; each billowing a thick column of smoke that vanished up and into the clouds. They complemented the muted blue of the winter landscape in a brilliant blaze of reds and yellows, sparking and smoldering fiercely through the night. New-fallen snow blanketed the forest, softening the canvas of her dreaming.

She was standing at the outskirts of a glade, hidden between the bare and knotted branches of a low-hanging tree. Through tangled limbs, she could see the glow of the fires and the strange silhouettes that twisted and leaped before the roaring backdrop of flames. A lively tune carried over the assembly, woven on the strings of a player's violin. Galinda wasn't sure how she'd come to be here, or, more worryingly, where _here_ even was. A cold wind rustled the silk of her nightdress, but her exposure to the elements seemed curiously irrelevant to her, so captivated she was by the light.

Without thought, she began walking towards the center of the clearing. Her feet sank through the snow with each and every step, leaving noticeable footprints in the wake of her path. It had occurred to her that the crowd might be unreceptive to strangers, or even pose a danger to her, but the night was cold, and the firelight was so beautiful and enticing.

She could see them now; the dancers who spun and laughed to the strange music. There were men and women of every shape and color; primitive, exotic, and otherworldly. Swirling silver paint decorated the curved topography of their naked bodies, and it caused them to shimmer and gleam in the firelight. She blushed as she watched them, hypnotized by the erotic manner in which they spun and moved; arching their backs and thrusting their arms towards the sky as if in primal supplication to the heavens. They made her feel childish and foreign, even as she timidly approached the wild celebration.

Someone grasped her hand. A young man suddenly appeared before her, fair of complexion, beautiful and robust.

"Have you come to join the dance?" he grinned.

Galinda was startled by his boldness. The light of the fire shone brilliantly off of his skin, making her feel inexplicably immodest. "I'm not sure what to do," she said, clasping the folds of her nightgown to her chest.

He laughed heartily at this, taking her other hand in his before swiftly pulling her close. "We don't move by _design_, my love... the music merely _guides_."

He lifted her up and twirled her around as the sounds of mirth and merriment continued. Galinda was stunned, and very close to mortified, even as she felt a thrill rush through her being lifted so high off the ground. The dancers moved and turned all about them, creating shapes and patterns in their display. Before Galinda realized what had happened, she was bowed and tipped into the arms of another. Rough hands from a dark-skinned nomad sought the delicate bend of her waist. The soft fingers of a red-lipped woman slid down the plane of her neck, causing Galinda to shiver. She felt dizzy... light-headed even. It became impossible to differentiate the faces and figures from one person to the next.

So when she caught sight of the creature that stood watching a far distance off in the woods, she wasn't entirely sure if it was real or a figment of her over-excited imagination. But the music slowed, as did the crowds, and the dark outline of the shadow-stranger still watched her with smoldering yellow eyes. Even when she moved between the revelers, its gaze never left her, and it was starting to make her nervous.

She was compelled to stop, to shift from the maddening caress of the dancers. The specter was closer now, but Galinda couldn't make out any distinguishable features. Only the eyes were visible; small stars that pierced her through the haze of smoke and flame. A couple passed before her, momentarily obstructing her view, and when she chanced to look again, the figure had vanished completely.

"Who was that?" said Galinda, turning briefly to a young girl behind her.

"Who do you mean?" the girl replied, her hand trailing suggestively down the back of Galinda's arm.

"I thought I saw someone in the distance," said Galinda nervously, her gaze fixed on the woods. "A shadow of something that kept to the dark."

"Beautiful creature, there is no one there. Unless, of course, you mean _Her..."_

Her?

She looked back over her shoulder, but the girl was no longer there. The party's games of wild flirtation continued, yet Galinda's thoughts were elsewhere. She felt compelled to seek it out, this apparition who dwelt in a maze of darkness. Where had it gone? Why was it watching her? Did it seek to hurt her, or to help?

Whatever the case, Galinda followed.

She slowly walked out of the clearing, finding a path that led up and into the woods. The sounds of celebration grew fainter, more muddled, as she strode through the columns of sycamore trees. A thick fog surfaced over the forest floor, pooling where the path would bend and diverge. Even the firelight grew dimmer as she wandered ever further, and the sharp sting of the cold pressed itself more keenly against her skin.

As she walked, it suddenly occurred to Galinda that the trees here were different somehow. Or maybe the air was thinner. It carried a fragrance that stirred something within her, like the jolt of feeling you experience when a fright takes hold of you; touching every nerve in your body. She had realized some time ago that she was no longer alone, but the soft footfalls behind her failed to jar her mind from its thoughts on such proverbial sensations. Wherever she had come from, or wherever she was going, this was a place that Galinda had seen before. This was a place she _knew_.

She stopped when she reached a small willow bent over the path in a loopy kind of arch. Her fingers reached out to caress the tips of its branches, and her eyes focused on the animal marks that twisted around its trunk.

"This place is familiar to me," she whispered, more to herself than the Other who followed.

"It should be," came the voice behind her, spoken as if it were carried on by the wind. "You _have _been here before."

She looked up at the sky, which was a cloudless midnight blue. _Had_ she been here before? The place lingered on the edge of her memory, but the details were faint and indistinct- as if they had been painted over, or white-washed from her view.

Galinda turned around.

Standing before her was the crippled remains of an old woman. She was clad in tatty, moth-eaten skirts that looked as if they'd been clumsily sewn together. Her skin, which was a putrid yellow-grey, seemed to pucker and sag at the folds of her neck. Her cheeks were hollow, depressed into a jaw-line of broken teeth that imitated a skeletal grimace. Where her eyes had burned brightly before, they were nothing more than sockets now, sunken into the back of a head adorned with matted hair. The withered hands that clasped her shawl looked arthritic and useless, and her legs were bent at crooked angles. Galinda was awed by this picture of a living corpse, and felt her blood turn colder.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"A memory," the Woman replied. "But not necessarily yours." The hunched and cadaverous figure leaned over, and walked a few disjointed steps up the narrow trail. It was impossible for Galinda to see where her eyeless gaze was set, which unnerved her further still.

"It is almost time, I think," said the Woman, and the words came from somewhere besides her throat.

Galinda took a hesitant step towards her. "Time for what? What are you waiting for?"

"It's the Feast of Lurline this night, my curious, beautiful girl. The fools are out to celebrate until the Killing Moon waxes and wanes, and only blood will stay the floods as only blood ever does."

"Blood?" said Galinda, uneasy.

"A sacrifice," the Woman moaned. "It's why I'm here. I'm out to find it."

"But why am _I_ here?" she asked fretfully. "Where _is_ this place?"

The Woman's knobbed shoulders slumped forward, and the deep sockets in her head were inclined towards the ground. "Seems to me you're walking a path."

Galinda followed her sunken gaze beyond the arching willow and further into the shadows. Fear enveloped her, but so did curiosity.

"Where does it lead?"

"Depends," said the Woman. "Are you looking for the familiar, or are you looking for the unknown?"

"I'm... well. I'm looking for the truth." She had no idea what had prompted her to say that, much less what she had meant by it.

The Woman, however, seemed satisfied with this answer. She smiled at Galinda, though it looked to Galinda like she was merely gnashing her teeth together. "It's there, my lovely- waiting for you to find it. I think I should warn you, though, that the answer may not be to your liking." She uncurled a horned finger from her palm and pointed towards the darkness beyond the trees. "Truth is _always_ a bit of both; a mixture of the Familiar and the Unknown. The greater question is, do you have the courage to seek it?"

Did she?

Galinda's fingers twisted into the folds of her gown. Would it be _so _awful to go further? To discover what lay hidden in the dark?

She took a step forward. Then another, and another.

The arching willow was above her, and then it was far behind. The trees became thicker as Galinda walked on, but with every step she took, it became evident that she knew full well where she was going. The memory unraveled like a spool of thread, taking her over snow-covered brush and through the sharp talons of trees. It was closer now, the feeling under her skin. She couldn't name it; couldn't even give shape to what it was. But she knew she had to keep walking, just as she knew the path was coming to an end.

A covering of mangled branches were all that stood before her when she reached the final bend. This was the place. It had happened here.

_What had happened, or don't you remember?_

Galinda raised a trembling hand up to the thorned curtain of branches, slowly pushing them aside.

There it was- the unspeakable dread. The remnants of an old Frottican wood mill; decrepit, abandoned, and rotted from years of neglect. The doorway was splintered, the roof was in shambles, and every open window was a dark, cavernous mouth that fed into a broken interior. It had been perfectly reassembled for her, piece by piece, even the small pink ribbon she had once tied to the rusty lock at the gate. Galinda had committed every detail to memory so many years ago, even if the last thing she remembered was watching it burn to the ground.

And now, here it stood, looming over her like a gaping nightmare; pressing, crushing, and accusing.

She took a step backwards, recoiling in horror.

"Are you afraid?" said the Woman, who stood suddenly behind her.

"I... I don't want to go in there," said Galinda, shaking her head and edging slowly backwards. "I won't go any further!"

A pair of gnarled hands clasped her by the arms, halting her retreating movement. "But you will, my dear. You _will." _The warm, fetid air of the Woman's breath singed Galinda's skin, and her palsied lips drew closer. "If you're searching for truth, you must open the door, and watch as history is rewritten."

"No!" Galinda pleaded, struggling to flee, to run. The mill seemed nearer now, full of black insinuations and the desperate, painful screams of a child. She couldn't escape them, nor could she escape the skeletal fingers that dug painfully into her flesh.

_"Look_," the Woman whispered. "_It is only death..."_

* * *

Galinda opened her eyes.

She could feel the soft weight of blankets on top of her, the shape of the pillow beneath her head. A cold sweat was covering her entire body, making the sheets cling uncomfortably to her skin. There was no light at all within the room. She was lying in total darkness. The frozen woods had vanished along with the horrid specter of the Woman and the mill.

A dream, then. It had all been just a dream. There were no pagan fires to taunt and tempt her; no endless forests suffused with memories and guilt. Galinda was in her bedroom, stretched out on her mattress, staring up into a black abyss. This _was_ her room, she was sure of it.

So why did everything feel so hopelessly wrong?

She slowly sat up in bed. Her breathing was uneven, and her mind was racing. Even now she could feel the Woman's twisted fingers clawing into her, pushing her forward to face an impossible truth. She slid her hands up and down her arms, trying to dull the ache beneath her skin.

Galinda looked over to the other side of the room, hoping to find her roommate asleep in her bed. Shapes formed and reformed in her vision, but it was impossible to tell what was real and what was illusion.

"Elphaba?" she whispered. But Elphaba wasn't there.

Trembling, she reached out to the space where her nightstand was, searching for her candle and match box.

_Thump..._

Her fingers froze. The sound echoed through the darkness; a resounding thud that faintly jarred the door of the closet.

Galinda looked out past the foot of her bed, confused by what she'd heard. It had been impossible to tell if her eyes were playing tricks on her. Now she was starting to doubt her other senses as well.

_Thump..._

The door rattled again.

Someone was in the room.

Galinda pulled the blankets against her chest. She briefly entertained the possibility that Elphaba might have locked herself in the closet, however ridiculous that seemed. Then she remembered that the closet had no lock, no fixture that might have prevented an exit or entry.

_"Galinda..." _

Her heart stopped.

That was not Elphaba's voice. It was hardly a voice at all. Her name sounded like a whisper, child-like and remembered. Terror pulsed through her veins. She was surely losing her mind.

_"Galinda..."_ it said again.

"No," she whispered, a pathetic refusal to the accusing darkness. This was a nightmare... just a horrible, sickening nightmare she was meant to keep reliving. She was five years old again, trapped in the mill in the woods. Trapped in there with _him_.

_THUMP... _

His small fist banged loudly on the door again. Galinda was white as a ghost. The thumping... the banging was becoming more frequent, more hurried, and more insistent. She covered her ears and closed her eyes, willing the sounds to stop.

_This isnt real... _she told herself. _Wake yourself up, Galinda. WAKE YOURSELF UP._

The door was practically rattling off its hinges. The banging turned to screaming, and for the life of her, she couldnt drown it out. _"GALINDA!" _it yelled, a frightened and pleading moan that tore at her heart.

"No!" she sobbed, ready to tear her ears right out of her head.

A pair of hands clenched tightly around her wrists, and finally, she let out a scream.

_"Galinda!"_ Elphaba hissed, pulling her near so that they were sitting face to face.

Galinda opened her eyes and stared, vaguely aware that it was Elphaba grasping a hold of her. The room was lighter now, bathed in moonlight that streamed through the nearby window. Her breath was harsh and ragged, and her heart continued to pound beneath her breast. How had the room changed so quickly? When had the noises stopped?

Her gaze swiftly shot over to the closet, now silent and dark. It had been left open an inch or two, revealing a vacant interior.

She looked back at Elphaba, who continued to regard her with something resembling alarm. Up close, her features were even more hawkish than usual, painted at various angles with the white light of the moon.

Galinda let out a deep breath, bowing her head to avoid her roommate's gaze.

"I'm..." she stammered. "I think I was-"

"Dreaming?" Elphaba finished for her, slowly letting go of her wrists. "I should say its a relief that I don't, then."

Mortification set in, and Galinda held a shaky hand to her temple. "There was just... I had heard something... I thought I was awake, and..." She noticed that Elphaba was dressed in her nightgown, and quickly looked over to her roommate's bed where the sheets and blankets lay in a crumpled heap. "When did- how long have you been here?"

Elphaba stared. "It's three in the morning, Galinda. You were asleep when I returned, and that was several hours ago."

Galinda was confused. The clock on her nightstand showed eight or nine minutes past the hour. It didn't seem possible. Nothing was making sense.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she said quietly, talking more to herself than Elphaba. "I could have sworn..."

_What? That you were listening to him die all over again? That _he_ was actually here?_

Elphaba waited for her to finish her thought, but Galinda wasn't sure what else she could say. She felt foolish, like a child frightened by their own shadow. Ama Clutch had clearly nettled her more than Galinda realized; even her dreams were haunting her, visiting dark places she longed to forget.

Exhaling slowly, she wiped at her eyes, still moist with tears. "I'm sorry, Elphaba," she said, feeling it more keenly than she had before.

"Well, I _have_ grown used to you occasionally spouting nonsense in your sleep, but nothing that was quite so violent." They both winced as she said the last word, and purposefully avoided looking at each other. "What exactly where you dreaming of?"

"I..." Galinda hesitated. What was she to do- tell Elphaba the truth? That was unthinkable. "I don't remember."

Elphaba's eyes narrowed at her, but Galinda turned away. She leaned back on the bed again, pulling the covers close to her body while refusing to look at her roommate. She could feel Elphaba's gaze upon her, skeptical and mistrusting, but Elphaba made no reply. Her weight shifted off of Galinda's bed, and Galinda had to stop herself from pulling Elphaba back. However irrational it seemed, she feared that her roommate would disappear again- that Galinda would close her eyes and be lost in the darkness forever, never to wake up. Never to return.

A wool blanket was placed over the top of her. It was one of Elphaba's.

"You're not nearly warm enough, I can see it," Elphaba muttered. "We'll have to get more wood for the fire. Winter is coming early this year."

Galinda didnt reply. Her jaw was tightly clenched, and her pulse was racing.

She listened intently as Elphaba stalked back to her bed, quietly rearranging the covers on top of herself and slumping down without a 'good night.' The faint sounds of heavy breathing soon followed, indicating that Elphaba had almost instantly fallen asleep.

Galinda, however, did not sleep for the rest of the night. Curled beneath her covers, she looked out of the window, anxiously waiting for the coming dawn, and fearing she would never see it.

* * *

The grassy mounds near the suicide canal were packed with students, all enjoying the most of the weather before the heavy mists of autumn set in. It had been a stressful week for the entire school, students and faculty alike, so few things were as welcome as a laid-back Friday afternoon.

Galinda had abandoned Milla and Shenshen at the arts building an hour earlier where they'd gone to see a local exhibition. They'd reproached her for her sullen and disagreeable mood, so Galinda decided to tour the campus grounds instead, feeling too out-of-sorts to care if she had offended them. It didnt seem to matter to them that one of their professors was dead, or that Ama Clutch was terribly ill. There was a time for tears and grieving, certainly, but Galinda's depression was becoming "bothersome."

It had been several days since the nightmare she'd had, and consequently, several days of quiet distress. The more time Galinda had to mull over the things she'd seen and heard, the more uneasy she felt. Reliving a childhood trauma was hardly new to her, but the intensity of it... the surety she had felt that the room, the noises, and the fires were real...

She simply couldnt fathom what any of it really meant. The pictures she drew in her mind were too awful to consider, yet how could she doubt their significance?

She pulled her scarf more tightly around her, even though the afternoon was warm.

"Galinda? Miss Galinda?"

She winced.

Boq was sprinting up from the banks of the canal, looking as anxious as ever to attract her attention. Galinda could see Elphaba sitting down on a nearby slope with two of his companions; a pair she had met before on a handful of previous occasions. Crope and... Tibbett?

"Hello, Master Boq," she said, trying to affect an air of friendliness.

He looked momentarily pained. "Is the honorific so very necessary between us anymore?"

Galinda blushed as she realized what he was alluding to. Lake Chorge. Caprice-in-the-Pines. An exasperating afternoon spent idling about on a porch. She suspected that she was going to spend the rest of her natural life regretting her decision to let Boq kiss her.

She sighed. "Forgive me, Boq. I'm afraid I'm a bit out of sorts today- names and titles are the last thing on my mind. But I trust you're faring well?"

He nodded, looking as if he was every bit as worn down. "No need for apologies, least of all to me. Everyone's been a little off since... well. Would you like to come and join us, anyhow?" he smiled. "We've been nursing a bottle of wine and talking nonsense for the last half hour. Your company would be so appreciated. We're in desperate need of someone to save us from our awful state."

Her first instinct was to immediately decline, feeling particularly unsocial as well as the inappropriateness of meeting with them without her Ama Clutch. But that just brought fresher, more painful thoughts to the surface, leaving her more distraught than she was before. Boq used her hesitancy as an invitation to take her arm, and as she couldn't find a suitable means of escape, there was no other alternative than to walk with him towards the canal.

"Miss Galinda," said Crope, standing as they approached. "How very good of you to join us." He offered her a glass of wine, and she thanked him for his kindness.

"Enjoy them now while you can, Galinda," said Elphaba. "They're never usually this well-behaved."

"I know. You'd hardly recognize them," said Boq, good-naturedly.

"It's not every day we're burdened with sorrows too grievous to comprehend," said Tibbett. "Who knew the loss of a Goat would be as heartrending as the loss of a beloved friend?"

"They're talking about merging the students together now," said Crope, sitting back down and grabbing the wine bottle. "Co-education at Shiz, who would have thought it?"

"I'd say its about time, considering the archaic limitations that have undermined a woman's education for centuries," said Elphaba, taking another sip of her wine. "A pity that it should come at the price of a mutilated Animal, but I suppose that's what they call progress." She was clearly more bitter than normal today.

"So what does that say- another end that we justify by hideous means?" Tibbett remarked.

"Or a small consolation to remind us that everything in this world, whether it's good or evil, happens for a reason," said Crope thoughtfully.

Elphaba snorted with derision. "Oh, please. Spare me your altruistic impressions of the universe. Assuming one could even _define_ evil in its simplest form, let alone comprehend its purpose, that's a paltry explanation for why someone felt it necessary to slit Dr. Dillamond's throat."

"Must we continue to discuss it?" said Boq, lifting up his spectacles and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I would prefer it if we talked of something else."

"Oh, well, what would you like to talk about then?" said Elphaba. "The weather? Fashion trends? Beautiful rainbows and soft, speckled kittens? Pick a subject, Boq, and let's have at it. Heaven knows we shouldn't be wasting our valuable time with bothersome moral dilemmas."

"There's no need to be so tart," Boq replied. "I think we need to cut you off, Elphie. Wine does nothing but make you cantankerous."

"I don't need wine to be cantankerous. And I don't feel like curbing my anger so you can simper and moon at my roommate all afternoon."

"Oh really, Elphie," said Tibbett, leaning over and resting his head in her lap. "You're making him blush, and not in the most flattering way." Elphaba looked like she wanted nothing more than to dump the rest of her wine on his head.

Boq was getting annoyed. "Make your jokes then, or vex at me all you want. But don't pretend like he didn't mean as much to me as he did to you, Elphie. And if I would rather devote my afternoon to dwelling on anything other than his death for a change, I think the old Goat would forgive me. Galinda's presence has nothing to do with it."

"Glinda."

Everyone stopped and looked at her. She stared at them all a bit nervously, fingering the stem on her wine glass as she quietly cleared her throat.

"He... that is, Dr. Dillamond... had a problem saying my name. The Gillikenese pronunciation was difficult for him. Something in the vowel sounds, I suppose."

She was speaking so awkwardly, but somehow managed to stammer on. "I remember him calling me Glinda on the train to Shiz. I was so annoyed, having to sit with him, or even talk to him. He was horribly dressed, and I thought rather ill of him for it. We could barely stand to be in the same cabin together. I was arrogant, shy, and foolish, and.. and I think I might even have offended him."

She looked up at Elphaba and found a cool pair of russet eyes staring back at her. Galinda swallowed, attempting to find her last nerve.

"Do you think," Galinda started, "I mean- that is to say, I think Glinda is a nice name. I might like to be called it as well, if that wasn't too improper."

For a moment, no one said anything. Then, Crope leaned forward and gave Galinda his deepest, most charming smile.

"Miss _Glinda _of the Arduennas," he said, raising the bottle of wine in the air. "You are nowhere near as wicked as Miss Elphie here would have us believe. Indeed, I'd say you're the best of all of us."

Galinda felt Boq take hold of her hand and press it between his. Her gaze, however, was focused on Elphaba, who continued to scrutinize her more closely than she'd ever done before.

"Here here," said Tibbett, clinking his glass against Crope's bottle. "A fine tribute to a great Animal. Here's hoping that his country and kinsmen will write up an epitaph _half_ so grand as yours."

* * *

"Do you really think me wicked?"

Galinda was walking with Elphaba towards the girls' dining hall, where many of the students were already gathering for supper. Elphaba, as usual, was only half-paying attention, and the wine she'd had didn't help the situation either.

"What?"

"Crope alleged that I wasn't nearly as wicked as you'd led him to believe," said Galinda, regarding Elphaba a bit strangely. "Do you really think I am?"

"Oh yes, Crope's incessant prattle," said Elphaba derisively. "As if _any_ of those fools knew the first thing about morality, let alone life and death. Always looking for the answers to life's little abnormalities in the strangest, stupidest places. If they ever bothered to exercise one whit of common sense when it actually mattered..." Elphaba paused and turned, suddenly realizing that Galinda had stopped.

"I'm serious," said Galinda with that same humorless expression she'd worn all week. "Do you think that I'm a wicked person?"

"No. You are the essence of goodness and light itself; a blessing to all who know you. Now come on, I don't want to be stuck eating the poached trout again."

Galinda didn't move.

Elphaba let out an exasperated sigh. "Since when have you ever cared what I think of you, Galinda? We've spent the better part of a year together, barely managing to tolerate the other's existence when necessity required us to actually interact with each other. And though you are foolish more often than wise, I never claimed to be your moral superior. Your silliness and eccentricities are of little interest to me, just as mine are to you. We're bonded by our complete indifference to each other, and I don't see why that would change just because Crope made a stupid remark to you while he was drunk. Is that a satisfactory answer for you?"

Galinda looked like a vase set precariously on the edge of a dresser, ready to fall and shatter at any moment. "I've been terrible to you, havent I?" she said quietly.

It wasn't the response that Elphaba had been expecting. She stared at Galinda in mild shock, watching her roommate fight off tears that she wouldn't- no- that she _refused_ to cry.

"Be honest, Elphaba. I won't shy away from it now. You've never seen me do a single decent thing in your entire life, have you?"

They stood there in silence, one unsure of what this conversation meant; the other convinced that it meant everything. A thousand different sarcastic remarks were on the tip of her tongue, but Elphaba couldn't bring herself to say any of them. Galinda had been so raw lately- so weak-spirited and unnerved. It made her appear quite fragile at times, like Galinda was literally carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. The past few days had been hard on them both, but Galinda's misery was harder to define. It wasn't just that she had been humbled by past events. Galinda was unquestionably _disturbed_.

And even if Elphaba wasn't used to coddling anyone, other than her sister perhaps, there was something in the way that Galinda looked at her- spoke to her- that made Elphaba just want to... reach out.

Comfort her.

Hold her.

She hated Galinda for it, even as a part of her longed for the courage to do it.

"You've put up with me for over a year, now," said Elphaba without a trace of sarcasm. "I think that's rather decent of you."

Galinda turned her head in shame. "No, it wasn't."

"Well, buy me dinner then. Whether it's decent or not will depend on what they're still serving." She smiled as she said this, a gesture that Galinda only half-heartedly returned. It was clear that there was something more going unsaid, but Galinda obviously wasn't ready to say it. Elphaba offered her an arm, regardless, and was glad when her roommate accepted it.

"Lead the way then, Elphie," said Galinda, as cheerfully as she could manage.

And so Elphaba did.

She never noticed that Galinda had used her name in the familiar term that night. She was fare more preoccupied, and troubled, by the strange purple bruises that trailed down the backs of her roommate's arms.


	3. A Mirror's Reflection

A Mirror's Reflection

"_I saw in a book once a drawing of a lake monster, or a sea monster if you believe in oceans (…) _

_I may not be sure if monsters exist, but I'd rather live my life in doubt than be persuaded by a real experience."_

-Wicked, p. 413

* * *

Dr. Dillamond's death had been a highly publicized affair. The shocking details of his untimely demise, while kept purposefully vague in the newspapers, had aroused the interest of many both in and out of high scholastic circles. It could be said that the academia world felt the loss more keenly than others, where the old Goat was still revered as one of the most distinguished intellectuals in the biological field. Many of his earlier dissertations on sentient creatures were just as controversial today as they were the twenty-odd years ago they were first published. For all of the passionate anger and heated debate his ideas had merited, he was still one of the most respected Animals in Oz.

It both pleased and saddened Elphaba, who had been affected by his death in a personal and gruesome way. More than a mentor, he had been her friend, and his work had inspired a passion in her that nothing else in her life had done before. To have him silenced at one of the most critical stages of his research was a sickening kind of irony, even if she had conceded long ago that the world was a picture of such farces. It was both awing and disturbing to consider how a single life, or a single death, could so profoundly change her future.

But Elphaba had no intention of abandoning his work. The fervent response to Dillamond's death proved that there were still people who were willing to listen- maybe even willing to fight. If the Goat's murder (and it _was_ murder, no matter what the fools were saying) was the means of calling those with power and influence into action, there could be some hope and meaning found in an otherwise horrific tragedy.

All she needed to do was fit the pieces of Dillamond's genetic puzzle together; a task that seemed more daunting the deeper his theories went. Still, the thought of change- of scientific and social revolution- spurred her on. The Goat was lost to her, but his death would not be in vain.

_Another end that we justify by hideous means?_

_Or a small consolation to remind us that everything in this world, whether good or evil, happens for a reason?_

Elphaba clenched her jaw as the words of Crope and Tibbett came unbidden to her mind. If she was positively resolute over anything, it was that Boq and the others would have no part in future plans with Dillamond's research. Things were far too dangerous now, and Elphaba wasn't prepared to lose any more of the people she loved. So when she met Boq at the café in Railway Square for a quick hello, she was resigned that all talk of Dr. Dillamond would not be up for discussion.

"I can't stay," she said abrasively, even if it was meant as an apology. "It looks like rain this afternoon and I don't want to be stuck here during the downpour."

"Hello to you too, Elphie," he smirked, and pushed a cup of mineral tea in front of her. "I _did_ see the storm clouds outside, so I took the liberty of ordering for you as I guessed you wouldn't be staying. Hope you don't mind."

"Thank you," she said, "how very kind."

Boq leaned back in his chair. "Now, tell me you're as thrilled as I am that we'll be sharing a lecture together, and life sciences at that! We can fight and toss over every issue, write obscenities in Avaric's notebooks, and you'll let me copy your notes when I don't feel inclined to take them. How's that for co-education?"

"Pathetically accurate," she chuckled, "though it won't seem right to be meeting up without all of the usual disguise and camouflage."

"A nice change of pace, though," he continued, crumbling a wafer into his cup.

"Especially for the gents, I'd wager. I look forward to seeing Avaric try and expound on Reighling's Theorem while some frilly tart is sporting cleavage two seats in front of him."

Boq laughed. "It'll be an adjustment all right, but not just because of the ladies. Our new professor, Dr. Nikidik, is coming up from Tanhadron's College under a recommendation from Professor Hain. Nikidik distinguished himself a few years back with some discoveries he made in his exploration of organic compounds. I wonder how closely he intends to follow Dillamond's core curriculum, or if he'd be at all interested in our research-"

"That remains to be seen," said Elphaba, cutting him off. "And why fret about science professors when you have more important matters to worry about- my roommate being one of them?" It was an underhanded move on Elphaba's part to mention her, but Glinda was the quickest, easiest way of distracting Boq when she needed him distracted.

As always, it proved to be successful.

"Oh?" he said, sitting up straighter. "Is she well? Has she been improving? Does she ever ask for me?"

"I think that's a 'no' on all accounts," she replied, more serious than sarcastic.

Boq sighed and sadly shook his head. "I don't understand what's become of her, Elphie. She's so… empty somehow. So silent and withdrawn. When I see her nowadays, it's like I'm looking into the eyes of a stranger. I mean, do you really think it's _possible_ that Dr. Dillamond's death could have affected Galinda so deeply?"

"It's Glinda now," said Elphaba, studying her tea leaves. "Surprisingly, she's taken with the name. And if anything is bothering her at present, it's her Ama. Ever since the old woman was stricken with brain fever, Glinda's become increasingly detached. Not just from her social circle either- it's like she's even becoming detached from _herself_. I can't account for it, though I'd hoped that a little time and distance would help to facilitate her recovery."

"But that's just it!" he cried. "Galinda and Glinda! They're two completely different people! Where is the haughty and maddening creature I fell in love with? I can't make heads or tails of it!" He groaned in frustration, and ran his fingers through his hair.

"You're starting to shriek like the salty, hen-pecked fishwives in Qhoyre," she said with a smirk. "She's the same person she ever was, Boq, only more affable and less self-absorbed. Do you honestly mean to tell me that you preferred her when she looked at you with barely concealed irritation and occasionally condescended to speak to you once in a blue moon?"

"I preferred her when we were on holiday," he muttered, "and I had the spectacular privilege of kissing her."

Elphaba frowned. "Well if you want answers, go and ask her yourself. She's as liable to confide in you as she is to me, provided you don't start spouting more poetry at her." She pulled out her coin purse and dropped a few on the table, more than what the tea was worth.

"Hey now, I told you I was buying!" he said, and shoved them back at her.

"Then buy yourself a clue. Or at least a better tie."

He stood up with her as she gathered her bag and cloak. "Will we be meeting up again soon?" he asked. "Crope and Tibbett wanted to do something Sunday-ish."

"I can meet with you again next week but probably not before," she said, buttoning up her jacket.

"Well, you _will_ promise to speak to Glinda for me, won't you?" He gave her his best pleading look.

"I promise not to remind her of what a love-sick, hopeless little fool you are," she said, and tossed him a short wave before exiting into the streets.

Her meeting with Boq turned out to be more displeasing than she had anticipated, even if he was as silly and charming as he always was. Glinda was a recurring subject between them, whether she liked it or not, but there was something very unsatisfying in their discussion this time around. She credited it to the flavorless tea, or the unpleasant visual of her friends sharing romantic dalliances together at Lake Chorge.

But the truth of the matter was that Elphaba was just as worried about Glinda as Boq was. There had been so many changes in her in so short a period of time, and they appeared to be far more harmful to her than they were beneficial. Their peers might have noticed a marked transformation in Glinda's demeanor, but none of them had_ any_ idea just how significantly she was emotionally deteriorating. It was also more than just Ama Clutch's illness that was so ruinously affecting her. There was something more; the same thing that kept Glinda up at night when Elphaba would wake to hear her crying.

Whatever the case, Glinda had refused to visit Ama Clutch at the infirmary again, and Elphaba didn't try to push the subject with her. After all, Elphaba wasn't a mind reader, and if Glinda was insisting on drowning herself in despair, well, what was she to do about it?

By the time she returned to campus and found her way back to the student hall, a light rain had already begun. She passed through the oak doors and into the lounge, shaking off her umbrella and studiously ignoring a small group of first years who whispered and giggled as she passed by. Coming here had been more of an afterthought as the library was starting to feel a bit too confining these days. It was a fortuitous decision nonetheless, given that the rain didn't look like it would be letting up anytime soon.

"Miss Elphaba!" she heard. "Oh Miss Elphaba! Over here!"

Elphaba cringed. She glanced over to the corner of the room where Pfannee was waving at her with barely suppressed enthusiasm. Shenshen, Glinda, and Milla were there also, and each looked just as eager for Elphaba to join them. She wasn't particularly inclined to humor the girls today, as humor was undoubtedly what they were seeking. But when she noticed Glinda staring at her with that impossible look of hopeful expectation, there was little else that she could do but wander over.

"What's this, then?" said Elphaba. "Have I been summoned to provide an eloquent contrast to that circus tent of a gown you're wearing?"

Pfannee actually laughed at the comment, obviously in too good a mood to take offence.

"It's not red enough for _that_!" she giggled. "Now do stop being so awful, Miss Elphaba, and join us for a while. You can't have anything better to do at this hour of the day, and we're _dying _to know more about your upcoming life science lectures."

Elphaba raised an eyebrow. "You can't be serious."

"We've heard you're taking the class with the boys from Briscoe Hall," said Milla, coyly.

"Boq and Avaric all at once. Can you _imagine_?" added Shenshen, and the three of them laughed and waved their fans more excitedly.

"Amazing," said Elphaba with mild incredulity. "Just when I think I've pinpointed the absolute depths of girlish idiocy any of you are capable of, you inevitably find a way of surprising me."

"Oh come, Miss Elphaba, indulge us this once," said Shenshen. "We're stuck with a couple of simpletons from Three Queens for languages, and you know how boorish they can be."

"Besides," said Pfannee, "your roomie is sulking again, and she could do with a little cheering. Lurline only knows we've done our best to make her more agreeable, but she's determined to be difficult."

"Yes… tell her all about your meeting with Boq this afternoon. I'm _sure_ that will do the trick," said Shenshen, and the two chortled at their suggestiveness. Milla's smile, however, flickered as she glanced at her friends, clearly not quite as amused as they were.

Elphaba looked at Glinda again, who appeared to be trapped between Pfannee and Shenshen. She smiled at Elphaba a little tightly, but it was clear that she wasn't half as pleased with their choice of conversation. Her complexion was a little paler today, making her eyes an even more solemn, startling blue.

Elphaba sighed, finally sitting down in the nearest chair. Oz, but she _hated_ how her roommate was getting to her lately.

"That's better," said Pfannee. "Now— Shenshen and Milla have proposed that we invite the boys on an outing this weekend at the market near Railway Square. Lunch at the Rose Gardens, perhaps, or a play at the musical hall."

"The weather is set to be fine," added Shenshen, "and I'm _sure_ the boys will be game for it."

"Then invite the whole of Briscoe Hall and make simpering love to each of them," said Elphaba impatiently. "What do you need me for?"

"Why, to deliver the invite, you idiot!" cried Pfannee. "Aren't you chummy with them?"

"With Boq and the Three Queens dandies at least," added Shenshen, "but I'm sure once you mention we'll be attending, Master Avaric will be just as happy to join the party."

"You can deal with the bastards yourselves," said Elphaba. "I don't have time to be arranging the sordid business of your love lives."

"But you should be welcome too, Elphaba," said Milla earnestly, obviously hoping to counter Shenshen and Pfannee's poor manners. "They have new stalls out for the season, and I know Glinda has already counted on you being there. She's said as much herself."

"Ah, planning an excursion, are we? How nice," said a smooth, oiled voice behind them. Everyone looked up in shock to find Madame Morrible standing beside their table, seeming to appear out of nowhere. She was smiling in a very pinched and disdainful sort of way at them, and the crimson gown she wore, cut just below the neckline, made her look more menacing and cutthroat than ever. Silence enveloped the table as Morrible stepped closer, standing just behind Glinda's chair to better tower over them. Glinda, who was now so pale as to appear translucent, refused to look at her.

"Good afternoon ladies, glad to see we're all being sociable today. Miss Elphaba, how fortunate to find you here- I've been looking for you for the last hour and a half. Oh, you needn't bother with excuses. We both know that you've been making liberal use of the campus grounds without a chaperone for weeks."

Elphaba turned a darker shade of green. The other girls stared at each other in mild incredulity. Glinda remained focused on the table top.

"No chaperone, girls. No one to watch you and make sure you're _behaving_," said Morrible as she wrapped her long, manicured fingers around Glinda's shoulders. It was meant to look congenial, perhaps, but it more closely resembled a predator grasping its prey. "Dear, oh dear," she continued soberly, "I've been far too lenient with the pair of you, I can see that now. I was willing to indulge this for a time, out of consideration for your sick minder, but I'm afraid, girls, that this can't continue. You understand where I'm coming from, don't you?"

She squeezed Glinda's shoulders, gently bunching the white material of the dress-sleeves in her claw-like hands.

Elphaba impulsively clenched her fists.

"What about the common dormitories, hmmm?" said Morrible sweetly, leaning down next to Glinda. "I'm sure you and Miss Elphie would get along quite well with the other girls there. It would be a _wonderful _opportunity for you both to get to know some of our foreign students- have a little change of scenery. What a superb way to broaden your social circle, don't you agree?"

For a moment, it seemed as though Glinda hadn't heard the words at all. She was practically a statue; rendered in pallid marble, blank and unmoving. Morrible's fingers tightened on her shoulders. Then, Glinda's head raised a little, and she nodded almost imperceptibly, either unwilling or unable to use her voice. The smirk on Morrible's face grew wider still. Milla, Pfannee, and Shenshen looked at their friend in absolute, horrified shock.

But Elphaba kept her gaze on Morrible, hating the way her fingers curled over Glinda's shoulders in such a sinister, predatory fashion. She warred with herself on how to act, caught between her better judgment and the anger she was constantly struggling to suppress. The voice of sense and reason told her to let Morrible do whatever she wanted with them; whether Elphaba had a bed in the dorms or the stables was irrelevant to her. But the stubborn, irrational part of her could only concentrate on one thing, and it was maddeningly and despondently blonde.

Inevitably (and infuriatingly) it was a short battle.

When Morrible finally took leave of them, allowing the girls to shriek and blather about the whole embarrassing exchange, Elphaba stood up and followed her. Much as she hated the woman, and as much as she wasn't in the habit of asking anyone for anything, she was determined to amend this new change of circumstances by requesting permission for an alternative to their minder situation. One that was as outrageous as it was unpleasant.

It wasn't the first time that Elphaba bemoaned Glinda's sudden and inexplicable influence over her. Nor would it be the last.

* * *

Glinda was exhausted. Physically, mentally, and emotionally.

The lecturer had been rattling on for the last thirty minutes about the economic structure of the Glikkus near the turn of the century, and calling him "dull" would have been charitable. History had never been the most intriguing subject to her, at least on a social or political level, but trying to stay focused on a single word Professor Syft was saying was asking for the impossible.

"The larger, more cultivated settlements were dispersed near the Canals," he droned on, "even though mining was only a superficial trade at the time. Commerce with Munchkinland was strained, however, as there were still border disputes in Upper Applerue…"

Glinda ran a hand over her weary eyes.

Her sleeping patterns had been very erratic for the past few weeks, leaving her more agitated than rested upon waking. The thoughts that constantly plagued her conscience were less than welcome, adding to her intense nervousness and depression. More and more she was starting to feel like a stranger in her own skin, even if her friends couldn't see it.

Elphaba could, though. Elphie noticed everything.

"…for other neighboring districts that were consequently starving from the Fallows blight of the previous year…"

Glinda stifled another yawn.

Dear Elphaba. How changed their friendship had become. While Glinda was aware that she was distancing herself from the others, curiously, she was becoming more drawn to her green companion. Perhaps it was because Elphaba was the only thing that could inspire confidence in Glinda anymore. Or maybe she was now finally discovering just how fascinating and thoughtful a person Elphaba really was. What was it that Ama Clutch had said to her the day she and Elphaba met?

"_Oh, are you bothered by the green? Well it might do you some good, if you let it. If you _let _it…"_

And Glinda had. Now she wished she had only made the effort sooner. Was this what a genuine friendship felt like? It had been so long since she'd felt anything similar. Elphaba's sarcasm was almost becoming charming. The way she twirled a finger through her hair while reading was also rather endearing. And her skin was so… green. So utterly, strikingly green; not unlike her Pertha Hills back home.

"…before then. Blood for blood was their first intention…"

She rested her head in her arms.

Thoughts of faraway places drifted into her mind. The endless hills beyond Frottica, where her father would take the family on picnics during Highsummer. The bridge of wood spanning over the water of the Bedleaves fishing pond, covered in vines and plum lilies. The scent of a heavy summer rain that lingered so often in the air, mingling with the sweet perfume of the pearlfruit blossoms.

It was as if she were a child again; running across the pasture, leaping over sties and ducking under fences with the soft sounds of cattle lowing in the fields. The wind would rush through her hair as she made off down the hill, and it always made her feel like she was flying. She was headed for the river that curved around the sallowwood trees on the far side of the meadow. Sprinting as fast as she could, she tripped and laughed gaily as the small pink ribbon tied at her wrist fluttered in the breeze.

And when she finally caught sight of the tall tree, he was already there…

…Waiting for her.

Hair the color of hazelnut; eyes that were grey and beautiful. The blush on his cheeks was as pink as the flowers that grew on the downs of her family's estate. But most of all, he wore the same bright mischievous smile that he always did- the very thing that had simultaneously vexed and charmed her since the first day they'd met.

Temen. The sweetest boy in all of Frottica; a child no older than six or seven.

They clasped hands together, and took off at a run. They must not dawdle, or her Ama would catch them, so they raced down the river and into the woods, giggling as they chased each other, careless of where they went.

Everything was exactly how she remembered it. The way they hid behind the trees in their games of hide and seek. The small brook they leapt over while trying to catch the speckled toads that hopped around the water. The handful of wildflowers that Temen would pick for her, and the blush he would get when she kissed his cheek to say thank you. They were her dearest memories.

They were her childhood.

Soon they were running again, and Glinda was determined that she was going to catch up to him this time. But the woods were growing thicker here, and something in Glinda forced her to stop. To hesitate. Why did this place feel so familiar to her, even though it looked so foreign?

A warning rang in her heart and head, but the sounds were too confusing.

It was then that Glinda suddenly noticed that Temen was nowhere to be found. She searched through the trees, wondering where he'd gone, but she couldn't find any sight of him. It was as if he'd vanished somehow.

Then, several yards in the distance, he finally reappeared, standing beneath an arching willow that bent over a hidden trail. He held out his hand to her, bidding that she follow him, but a grim, terrified realization came over her when she discovered where he was heading.

No. Not down there. Anywhere but there.

_Come back! _

Glinda tried to call to him, but she had no voice. There was no sound at all in this place; just the hollow echo of her mind. She tried to take a step forward, but the trees and brush had inexplicably barred her path. She wanted to move, to motion him back, but her arms and legs were weighted. Useless.

_Temen…_ she mouthed. _Don't go there!_

Suddenly, from out of the depths of the woods, a figure slowly emerged. Dark all over with eyes like heated coals, it looked at Glinda with frightening recognition, and Glinda felt her heart constrict. It was the Woman-the same cadaverous creature that had haunted Glinda's dreams. Her hair was wild, and her jaw hung slack in a gruesome, sickening smile. Temen stood with his back to her, failing to notice her approach.

_Run! _she wanted to scream._ Run! Can't you hear her? She's behind you! She's coming! _

The boy smiled, oblivious to her, and Glinda struggled desperately to move. Where was her voice? Oh why couldn't she find her voice?

A withered arm reached out, slowly reaching for Temen.

_Hear me! _her mind was screaming._ Run, Temen! RUN! _

The Woman turned her wrist.

Very delicately, she ran the sharp knobs of her fingers down the young boy's cheek.

His skin began to smolder; to char and blister and burn. His whole body seemed to ignite then. Every inch of him was quickly engulfed in flames.

His eyes rolled into the back of his skull, and his lips crinkled and bled until they completely burned away. The hair on his head shriveled to small, grayish embers, and his ears melted into his scorched and blackened flesh. His mouth opened wide, forming a wordless scream, and the sinews in his hands and arms cracked as he reached out for her. The smell of it filled her nostrils, and it made her want to retch.

She covered her eyes and fell to the ground; willing the sickening vision from her mind as hot tears stained her cheeks. Then, Glinda heard the Woman's voice; the same horrific voice from her nightmares.

_Only one survives_, _my beautiful, my dear_… _but the_ _other one…_ the other _one…_

"_No!_" she finally screamed with every last ounce of energy she had, forcing her eyes open.

Bright lights and stifled laughter slammed abruptly into her senses. The cold, flat surface of her desk was pressed against her cheek, and her hands were gripping the corners so tightly, the blood was drained from her fingers.

She slowly raised her head, bewildered and horror-stricken.

She was in her history class. And all eyes were upon her.

"Miss Galinda, or _Glinda_ if you insist," said Professor Syft irately, "if you're disinclined to pay attention to the lecture or feel the need to disrupt with your hysterics, you are welcome to leave as soon as it's convenient."

Glinda stared at him, as confused as she was panicked. She wordlessly glanced at the faces surrounding her, each of them a mixture of shock and amusement. A wave of intense nausea surfaced with her humiliation, and before Professor Syft could say another word, she bolted for the door as fast as she could.

She stumbled into the corridor. Her stomach churned as she pictured the scene again; the smoldering flesh, the blackened teeth, and his fingers twisting in pain. Even now, she could smell the scent of him burning. Glinda was going to be sick.

The lavatories were just up the hall. She hurriedly passed by a few faculty members and some students, one hand clutched to her mouth and the other over her stomach. She staggered into the restroom and over to the commode, worried that the contents of her stomach would spill at any minute. She was breathing hard, and the nausea that swept over her was bringing on the heat of a fever.

_Breathe_, she told herself. _Breathe, Glinda. It was just a dream…it was just a dream …get it out of your mind…_

Her fingers were clenched in small fists against her stomach. She didn't care that she was kneeling on the filthy floor of the girls' lavatory, looking every bit like the wretched mess of a person she was becoming. All she wanted was to be free of these nightmares. All she wanted was to forget.

Slowly, slowly, her breathing settled. The sickness that threatened to spill over was subdued. The pain in her head and her stomach had faded into a dull throb, but she was confident that the worst was over.

After a few moments, she placed a hand against the wall and brought herself unsteadily up to her feet. Her nerves protested at the effort, but she knew it wouldn't do to be caught in here in such a state. Her skin was still flushed and warm, so she stepped over to the sink and turned the faucet on. The water pooled in the basin, and she plunged her hands in and brought it up to her face.

The freezing water was a welcome shock to her over-heated skin, and it helped her to better focus; to clear her fevered mind. Rubbing cold fingers into the back of her neck, Glinda let out a deep breath as she glanced back up at her reflection in the mirror. Her vision was blurred for a brief moment; the last few drops of water were trickling down her lashes.

But soon, all too soon, everything became clear.

Her tired features. The stalls in back. And a small young boy with chestnut hair standing behind her; smiling without joy, ethereal but real.

Glinda's blood turned to ice. She pivoted around in a split-second, aghast at the thought of finding him behind her.

But the space there was empty. No sign of life was visible. If anyone had been standing there, they had vanished completely.

She looked at the mirror again, studying its surface before turning back around. No one; and yet she had been so sure—no—so _certain_ that someone had been standing behind her.

"Are you there?" she whispered.

Her words echoed across the room in her timid, fearful voice. Her eyes frantically searched the row of empty stalls, but no sign of anyone, living or dead, could be found.

She pressed a hand against her forehead, and felt tears prick the corners of her eyes.

"See here," she cried, "am I going mad?"

But there was no one there to respond to her. There was nothing but the silence.

"Leave me alone," she whispered, breathing deeply. "Whoever you are, whatever you're doing, leave me alone, do you understand! _Leave… me… alone!_"

The door to the room swung open, and a pair of girls entered. Their noisy chattering stopped when they caught sight of Glinda, looking disheveled and absolutely insane. They exchanged looks with one another, and nervously walked back out.

Glinda watched them leave, too troubled and unnerved to feel the mortification she rightly should have. What was happening to her? The dreams were starting to become visions. Hallucinations. Nightmares blurring from one reality to the next.

She sank down to the floor, pulling her legs tightly against her chest while tucking her chin between her knees.

Was she really starting to lose her mind?

She glanced at the mirror again.

It was cracked.


	4. The Familiar

The Familiar

"_Then there's the dragon beneath Oz, in a hidden cavern (…) _

_The dragon who has dreamt the world, and who will burn it in flames when he awakes-"_

Wicked, p. 57

* * *

Elphaba wasn't sure how she would feel seeing Nessarose again after a year's separation from her younger sister. It was impossible to surmise what was _right_ to feel.

There were few things in this world as complicated as Elphaba's relationship with her family, and to say that her association with any of them was difficult would have been a colossal understatement. School had provided her with the first opportunity in her life to set out on her own; to distance herself from all of them while simultaneously discovering what else life had to offer her. Even if there had been a disproportionate amount of setbacks to successes during her time at University, she couldn't deny the fact that leaving every last Thropp behind her had been more than a little freeing.

Still, her family seemed to be the only unchanging variable in her increasingly unpredictable existence. Where confusion and anarchy were the unvarying order of student life at Shiz, she knew that she could depend on her relations for unfailing regularity in thought, manner, and disposition. Her father would always be ashamed of her. Nanny would always be insane for her. Shell would always be estranged from her. And Nessa… well. Nessa would always be in need of her. It was comforting at times, when it wasn't unbearable. All the same, it was the story of her life. Elphaba was the Thropp Third Descending: the greatest disappointment the line had ever seen and heir to a family legacy that was absolutely meaningless to her.

How unfortunate, then, that she loved them all so dearly.

When she requested to have Nanny take Ama Clutch's place as her and Glinda's new minder, she knew full well that it meant that Nessa would be coming a year earlier too. It had seemed like a manageable solution at the time, though Elphaba was forced to admit that thoughts of Glinda's welfare had heavily influenced her hasty decision. Truth be told, she was actually rather surprised that Madame Morrible had acquiesced to her suggestion with such little fuss. She wasn't prepared to allow that the vile old witch was growing soft in her years, or that she had had a sudden unbelievable change of heart, so she chose to regard the whole affair with the same suspicion and wariness that she was becoming famous for, if one chose to listen to Tibbett or Crope.

But the day of their arrival soon came, and Elphaba was pleased to find that she was genuinely happy to see them both again. Nanny was as rotund and spirited as she remembered, and Nessa was a picture of sanctimonious beauty. After a warm exchange of greetings and an unpleasant visit with the headmistress in her office, a few porters were summoned to carry Nanny and Nessa's luggage up to Crage Hall in what had formerly been Ama Clutch's room. As Elphaba expected, the process of unpacking and rearranging the place was a noisy, chaotic mess.

"Oh, this simply won't do!" cried Nessa as she squirmed on the cushion of an ancient looking chair. "One of the legs is shorter than the rest. Look! When I lean back, it tilts to the right just _so_."

"Maybe we can stick a book underneath it," said Elphaba as she knelt down for a closer look. "See if that will even it out."

"They're too thick for that, Elphie. And even then, I should be very distressed if I had to spend the rest of the school-year balanced precariously on a stack of books." Nessa motioned with the point of her toe that she wanted Nanny to help her up, and Nanny quickly obliged.

"That chair is old enough to get anyone bent out of shape," said Nanny, clucking her tongue. "I wouldn't doubt it if that Ama of yours was sent to the infirmary for a touch of scoliosis on top of her screwy musings. How cramped and rickety this room is! They might as well have stuffed us in a shoebox."

"I can manage well enough with the size, Nanny," said Nessa. "It's the chair that has me wary."

"Wary of the chair, you say? Well, don't you worry, poppet. Nanny's going to go down and see if that Morrible fiend would be willing to substitute some of the clumsier furniture in here for sturdier fittings. I'm sure there's a wingback in some webby niche not going to any use."

"If you go, tell her we also need to get these drapes replaced," said Elphaba as she stared at the curtains in disapproval. "These hardly allow for much privacy."

"Oh, she'll be hearing all of _that_ and more," Nanny replied. "But don't you go skipping off while I'm out. Try and sort out the rest of our cases and keep Nessie away from the corners of that desk. Oh, and mind she doesn't trip over any of the luggage, either!"

Elphaba shooed Nanny out of the room with every assurance that she would look after her sister, and quickly shut the door behind her to prevent curious eyes from peeking in.

"There," said Nessa, "she's gone to complain, and now I have you all to myself." She smiled as she leaned her head against Elphaba, the closest she could manage to an embrace. "My wicked little Elphie, how I've missed you. What can you tell me? How have you been keeping yourself?"

"I'm as kept as a Quadling's kitchen," said Elphaba with a grin, and she wrapped her arms around Nessarose. "Full of rot and unfit for guests. But here you are, and I'm thrilled to have you. What of my Nessie these days?"

"The grace of the Unnamed God gives me strength as ever," her sister replied as if reciting it by heart. "But the carriage ride was horrible, especially once we crossed the Shiz Gate. Why ever haven't they made more of an effort to extend the railway south? So much for the glorious yellow brick road. I suspect I look as bruised as the apples on Miss Thrumptin's farm." The two of them chuckled at the thought.

"You just need to get some of the stiffness out of you," said Elphaba as she assisted Nessa over to the bed. "I'll take you walking later tonight so long as you promise not to _whine_ too much."

"Oh, but what should you do if I stopped all my whining? Mean old Elphie would be so distraught, left with nothing to complain about."

"No fear of _that_, Nessie- I'll always have cause to complain. And as to your previous query, I think there's a greater chance of the Wizard building a bridge to the moon before they run the railroad down to Quadling Country- ruby deposits or no."

"I don't suppose it really matters in the long run," Nessa remarked as she shifted unsteadily on the bed. "I don't think father will be staying there much longer. Things there haven't been going so well, and he took my leaving rather hard. Do you think you'll ever go back to the Kells again, after school is over?"

"I couldn't say," said Elphaba while she closed a suitcase and slid it under Nanny's bed. "I suppose it's home, though I never really felt as if I belonged there."

"Our deformities tend to make us outcasts in any arena," Nessa replied.

_Our deformities_.

Her sister spoke of it so casually, it nearly astonished her. Not that Nessarose was incapable of openly acknowledging either of their physical defects, but that she would choose to cast her lot in with her sister's was the incredible thing. It was another one of those rare moments when Nessa proved she was capable of looking beyond the confines of her own ill-fated and armless existence by acknowledging that, perhaps, Elphaba suffered as well.

She sat down on the bed next to Nessa, and pressed a green hand against her cheek. "Do you think you'll be happy here, then?" Elphaba said in a more serious tone. "I know we're used to being objects of ridicule, but we're much more visible here than we were in Quadling Country. The students here can be remarkably cruel, if you're inclined to pay any attention to what they're saying, and I can't promise you that the teachers will be any better."

"Then that is _their_ failing, not ours," said Nessa firmly. "We must pity those with such narrow-minded vision, Elphaba, and strive to make the most of our lot. Besides, you seem to have done rather well for yourself in making friends. I trust they're the reason why you've neglected writing me all summer."

"That's another discussion altogether," Elphaba muttered, and she kissed Nessa on the forehead before standing again. "But the short of it is that I was knee-deep in a scientific and social campaign that occupied the whole of my summer, and I didn't make time for much else. The Goat I wrote to you about, Dr. Dillamond, took me in as a kind of apprentice in his studies on Animal theory and genetics. When I wasn't in the labs taking notes for him, I was holed up in the library for several hours at a time. A few friends were working with me, as they were equally as anxious to be involved in Dillamond's research as I was."

"Yes, I'm sure you were _very_ inspiring," said Nessa wryly, watching as Elphaba stacked books on a nearby shelf. "That Munchkin boy… is he a paramour of yours?"

"Boq?" Elphaba snorted. "Gracious no. Whatever would have given you _that _idea?"

"Oh my, how quickly we are to forget," she said with a half-teasing, half-reproachful look. "I seem to recall a squat little Quadling boy romancing you three summers ago when we were still in the Ovvels. Doesn't this Boq of yours fit the type?"

"Pawing me up in a barn is hardly romance. And even if I _did_ have a partiality for miniature-sized nitwits, Boq is too silly and love-sick over my roommate to be of any interest. He is a good friend, though, I should say, and has been my unwavering advocate in Dillamond's campaign." And as she said it, Elphaba suddenly realized just how true that statement was. A pang of something like shame or remorse filled her heart, and she tried to fight it back by fussing over a painting on the wall that was hanging slightly askew.

"Well, what of your roommate then? She's nothing at all like I was expecting."

"Glinda is many things," said Elphaba in frustration, either over the painting or Nessa's choice of subject. "And each layer is more complicated than the next."

"It's rare to find such quiet diffidence in one so flawlessly pretty," said Nessa thoughtfully. "For all of Morrible's talk on good-breeding, I think a little humility amongst the privileged classes says _far_ more about their upbringing than fine jewelry or porcelain tea sets. I trust the two of you have overcome your initial differences?"

"We've overcome our desire to strangle the other, yes," said Elphaba. "As for the rest of it, I don't know what to tell you. Up until a month ago, we couldn't be more at odds with each other, and the humility you so highly regard in her was practically non-existent. Now she clings to me like a small frightened child, and suddenly I'm forced to play the unlikely role of comforter." She finally gave up on the painting, and merely stood staring at the canvas.

Nessa couldn't contain her laughter, which eventually drew Elphaba's attention. "Oh honestly dear, do you really expect me to believe you're _forced_ to do anything? How transparent you are at times. The whole world obviously adores her, and you hate it because you're just as enamored as they are. You always _did_ pride yourself on refusing to conform to popular opinion, for all of your gloom and general self-loathing. Yet behold- everyone has fallen for her, and you're no different than the rest."

"I'm not _denying_ my affections for her, nor would I feel the need to," said Elphaba hotly. "What _frustrates_ me is my inability to understand her- how she's transformed into this pensive, frightened creature that can hardly bear to look me in the eye anymore. Everyone seems convinced that it was Dillamond's death or her Ama's madness that's altered her so, but I don't see it. I'm telling you, Nessa, and I mean this sincerely, it's almost as if she's _blaming herself_ for their misfortunes."

Nessa seemed to absorb this information in her usual, thoughtful manner. "And what of her spirituality? Does she pray regularly? Does she attend mass?"

Elphaba gave her a withering sort of look. "I'm hardly the person to ask about _that_."

"Well clearly that's it then. The only way for Glinda to purge these experiences from her soul is by recommitting herself to the Unnamed God. Throw off the shackles of all of her guilt and seek His blessed forgiveness. How else can she expect to find solace during these troubled times if her faith remains in doubt?"

"On behalf of the faithless, I don't doubt she could."

Nessa glared at her. "Don't start with me, Elphie. _Don't._ I do my best to tolerate your pretty little blasphemies, but we're talking about Glinda here, and I'm being perfectly serious."

"Be as serious as you like," said Elphaba. "But Glinda's spirituality, whatever it is, has _nothing_ to do with her current fractured state of mind. I've seen her praying often enough, but the Unnamed Deity of Magic and Wonder has yet to bless her with calmer dreams during the night. Your intentions are good, as they always are, but I don't see how angry sermons of hellfire and damnation would be of any relief to her, much less to anyone else."

"Oh, and have you helped her, Elphaba?" her sister retorted. "Show me your success. You mock my faith with so much derision, yet for all of your superior know-how, _your_ efforts, whatever _they_ are, have proven to be every bit as useless. Perhaps you could stand to adopt some of Glinda's humility yourself. A little penitence might do you some good, if nothing else will."

Elphaba shut the top drawer of the dresser, trying her best to stay calm. "We've been over this Nessa," she said in a patient tone. "Your ways were never mine. And if I truly am a twisted little punishment from the Unnamed God for sins unforgivable, as father so often reminds me, what difference does it make whether I'm penitent or not? Seems a hopeless business, I think."

It was obviously the wrong thing to say; however, as Nessa's jaw set itself in the cruel and magnificent way it did when she became upset. "You're mocking me," she said slowly, angrily. "But then, why should I be surprised? It's really nothing new, after all. You always did have a talent for cruelty."

Elphaba sighed. "Nessa…"

"Maybe father was right," she continued, her head tilted as if in contemplation. "Maybe I was wrong to have come here a year early. I had my reservations- he seemed so _distraught_ at losing me. But no, I thought my duty _here_ was to my sister. Was I wrong, Elphaba? Have I judged you prematurely? Or have you disappointed us all again, like you have such a talent for doing?"

Well. There it was. Whether they were college students or small children, Nessa always knew the words to wound her, and she cut into Elphaba with all the skill of a surgeon.

The two stared at each other, all camaraderie now vanished. It never failed to amaze Elphaba how quickly their amity could turn into the same tired conflicts, but that seemed to be the hallmark of their relationship.

Nessa turned away from her, choosing to look at the wall instead. "I'm tired," she said curtly. "I want to take a nap. You and Nanny can finish rearranging the room later, but for now, I'd like to rest."

Elphaba hesitated, unsure if it was wise to leave Nessa alone like this. She certainly knew Nanny would be cross with her for completely disobeying her instructions, never mind getting Nessa upset. "I should stay," she said quietly.

"No, Elphaba. Thank you, but no. We've had enough of each other for today, I think, and as only one of us can open the door and leave, you should really take the hint."

Cruel words, but they weren't unexpected. The familiar sting of disappointment hung heavily between them, reminding Elphaba of home more than anything. She wasn't happy to leave things as they were, but it seemed to be the end of the conversation, at least as far as Nessa was concerned. So, like the dutiful sister she'd always been, Elphaba took the hint.

She knelt down to help Nessa out of her shoes and stockings, but Nessa insisted that she was fine napping just the way she was. Lying down on the bed, she permitted Elphaba to place a small blanket on top of her, but rolled over to prevent further apologies or placations being made.

Elphaba sighed deeply once again, and quietly made her way over to the door. She stopped as her fingers touched the brass surface of the doorknob, willing herself to find something to say to her sister.

"I'm sorry the ride was so uncomfortable getting here," she said softly. "I hope at least you'll be comfortable with the room."

She waited a moment, letting the usual silence sink between them. Nessa made no response.

Elphaba quit the room shortly thereafter, making sure once again that the door was secured.

_The unchanging variable_, she thought wearily, and headed for her own room in silent resignation.

* * *

The market at Railway Square was uncommonly crowded for a cool Thursday afternoon when Glinda eventually arrived. The stalls and kiosks were set up in large colorful displays, and every merchant was trying to draw her attention to their assortment of mismatched goods for sale. Jewelry nestled between hand-woven baskets. Postcards and bottles of inexpensive perfume. She looked at them all with mild interest, as coming here had been more of an excuse to get outside of the campus grounds for maybe an hour or two.

A lecture had been scheduled for the students at Crage Hall earlier that morning, but Glinda opted out of attending as the idea of confinement in a cramped building made her intensely ill. It wasn't generally in her nature to blatantly go about breaking the rules, but her sense of propriety had left long ago, and in all honesty, Glinda had more pressing concerns to worry about than incurring the wrath of the headmistress.

Furthermore, she couldn't bear all of the looks and sideways glances that others were starting to direct at her. Her strange and hysterical behavior of late had not gone unnoticed, despite her best efforts to remain unobserved. But however withdrawn or silent she'd been, Glinda nevertheless found herself as the latest object of gossip and speculation amongst her Crage Hall peers.

_Let them think what they will_, she thought jadedly. What did it even matter, anyway? Her life had been spiraling out of control for weeks now, and there wasn't much else she could do when simply waking up in the morning was too much for her to bear.

A wrinkled old Munchkinlander bid her over to a small display of scarves, telling Glinda how beautiful she was and how this-or-that would look lovely with her complexion. She stared in appreciation at all of the different colors, fingering a beautiful cashmere wrap that was a rich shade of burgundy.

_It would look so lovely on Elphaba_, she thought, and smiled to think of her roommate wearing it. She had considered inviting Elphaba to come with her, thinking that it might give them an opportunity to talk. She had sensed Elphaba's frustration with her, or with Glinda's unwillingness to confide her recent sorrows with her roommate. Perhaps that was the cruelest kind of irony about their relationship, though it had its fair share of cruelties. The more Glinda grew to admire and appreciate Elphaba, the more hesitant she was to let her in.

But there was so much that Elphaba didn't know about her, and so much Glinda wanted to stay hidden. How could she consider losing Elphie's respect and approval _now_, just when she finally had it?

Glinda sighed. She supposed that made no difference either. Elphaba had her sister to worry about, so reckless behavior during school hours was completely out of the question. But she purchased the scarf for her, in any case, certain that Elphie would like it.

"Out without a chaperone, Miss Glinda?" said a distinctly male voice behind her. "How naughty."

She let out a small breath of frustration, and turned to Avaric with a winsome smile. "Master Avaric," she said as prettily as she could. "What will I do? It seems you've found me out."

He smiled devilishly at her, and lifted both of her hands in his to bestow a kiss on the tips of her fingers in proper Gilikin custom. "Well, lucky for you, I happen to encourage a little rule-breaking now and then. Capital to see you here, Miss Glinda. And may I say how beautiful you're looking?"

"If you must," she replied, willing herself to be charming but failing all the same. The Margreave's son was dressed in fit trousers and a jacket with silver trim, making him look as dashing as ever. She was almost annoyed with him for it. "What brings you here today?"

"Oh, a little mischief… a little menace," he said, and they began walking together. "Boq wanted to meet up with his Three Queens admirers for an afternoon of flirting, and I left them to acquire a pack of cigarettes." He produced a silver case from his pocket and took one out, not bothering to ask if she approved of him smoking near her. "Now what about you, Miss Arduenna of the Uplands? Trying to escape the poisonous clutches of your unsightly venus fly trap?"

She stopped walking, and turned to Avaric with a glare. "_Miss Elphaba _is escorting her sister Nessarose to the seasonal lecture on campus," she said haughtily, "and I'll thank you not to refer to her as some vile, poisonous plant."

Avaric raised his eyebrows a little, then quickly started laughing. It made him all the handsomer, which only irritated her more.

"Lending a hand, eh?" he said as he struck a match to light his cigarette. "Or a pair of arms in her sister's case. Ah well. It's nice to see you wandering off without much of a care. Very _bold _of you. Have you been here long?"

"I have," she said pointedly, wrapping her shawl around her. "And I was just leaving, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, stay a while," he said, pressing a hand to the small of her back and moving her in the opposite direction. "Come say 'hi' to the boys at least, or Boq will never forgive me. He's madly in love with you, you know."

"Really," she sighed. "I hadn't noticed." Her sense of propriety was starting to resurface as Avaric shoved her gently in the direction of the café.

"Not interested in the half-pints, eh? I can understand. The Munchkins can be a bit of a handful, and I mean that both in good ways and bad. Boq's really not a bad fellow, though, once you get to know him. It's just that he _looks_ ridiculous."

Glinda couldn't suppress a smile, though she mentally chided herself for it. It was next to impossible not to be a _little _charmed by Avaric's shameless manners, as boorish as he was. She suspected that was why Boq was such good friends with him, and why Elphaba relished every opportunity she had to argue with the brute.

Upon entering the café, Glinda found herself scanning the room with a wary eye, lest any of her social acquaintance were present to see her alone in the company of a gentleman. She could see Crope and Tibbett laughing at a table in the far corner, and what could only have been Boq sitting with his back to her, studiously writing. As they approached, the Three Queens boys looked up in pleasant surprise, ready to offer them cheerful greetings. Avaric motioned for them to be silent, and knelt down next to his roommate.

"Miss me, dear?" he smirked, and placed a hand on Boq's shoulder. "I have a surprise for you."

Boq was still engrossed with his writing, and didn't bother looking up. "If it's more of those nudie cards from that pervert's stall at the corner, I'm sure we've seen enough of them- particularly if it's the same lop-sided blonde."

Avaric grinned even wider, and Tibbett let out an indelicate cough while Crope covered his mouth with his hand.

"Well she _is _blonde, dear fellow, but hardly lop-sided as you suggest. Miss Glinda?"

"Hello Boq," said Glinda, too diverted to be properly offended. "Crope… Tibbett… how nice to see you all."

Crope and Tibbett broke out into boisterous laughter, and Glinda had the privilege of seeing Boq turn fifteen different shades of red. Avaric clapped him roughly on the shoulder, and told the group he was going to order more tea for everyone. "Save me a seat, in any case," he yelled. "There's a new server up front, and she's hotter than anything."

"Glinda-" Boq finally managed, stumbling out of his chair and taking his hat in his hands. "I didn't… we weren't expecting…"

"Have a seat, Miss Glinda," said Tibbett gallantly, as he slid a chair out for her to sit in. "It's not often that we're treated to the company of Crage Hall this early in the day, so you'll forgive Boq here for wetting himself at this most unexpected visit."

Glinda sat down at their table, momentarily forgetting her excuse to leave early. "I wasn't feeling up to the lecture today," she said diffidently. "I hope you'll forgive the indiscretion. Avaric cornered me in the market before I could escape."

"Splendid!" said Crope, saving Boq from the embarrassment of having to try and speak again. "The handsome villain has brought us a damsel in distress. We're having our own lectures of-a-sorts, if you'd care to join in, though the pornography _is_ sadly lacking."

"Oh I don't know," said Tibbett with a grin. "If we dig through some of these pleasure-faith illustrations, I'm sure we can find Miss Glinda something raunchy. Would you care to see a stencil of Princess Sonoma and the wild Bull she took as her lover?"

"_Manners_, you rake," said Boq, finally recovering from his earlier humiliation. "And really, Glinda, we're thrilled to have you here. It's been a long afternoon, as you might have guessed. I think the boys here are about ready to give up on me."

Glinda had noticed the piles of books and papers stacked all over the table. "Arjikian princesses and their Animal consorts- dare I ask what it is you're working on?"

"This, my love, is an entire summer's worth of insurrection and ennui," said Tibbett, gesturing towards the pile of notes in front of him. "All of the theories, conjectures, and implausible speculations we made while Elphie had us bustling about for the great Dr. Dillamond."

"Every absurdity we ever committed to paper," added Crope, lifting a book from the pile nearest Boq. "Lurline above, did we _honestly _do this much work over the summer? How utterly remarkable."

"Is _work_ what you'd call it?" said Boq with a leer, snatching the book back from him. "That's a fair word for falling asleep behind the bookcases and leaving suggestive drawings on mine and Elphie's papers."

"I think you were fortunate to get _that _much out of us," Tibbett smirked.

"Oh, yes," said Glinda, looking back at the notes with sudden interest. "You were all working with Elphie and Dr. Dillamond, weren't you?"

"_Were _is the correct term, yes," said Boq sullenly. "We dedicated most of our summer to it; the cause for Animals and animals alike. These," he said, pointing to the different piles, "are what little we've scraped together ourselves, but it's mostly all mythological supposition and nonsense. Elphie's the one who saved the critical information— the last of Dillamond's research. Now she's refused to let us help her make use of it. I've tried my best to convince her otherwise, but you know how stubborn she can be when she sets her mind to something."

Glinda reached for the papers in front of her, and began turning the pages one by one. "I knew she was fond of Dillamond," she said softly, "that his work was important to her. But we never talked about it much. It's one more thing I never really understood about her."

"Well, to own the truth, we were just as indifferent about it all," said Crope. "That is, me and Tibbett at least. In the beginning, it was just something to do; a way to kill a little time between the evil we so often love getting up to."

"Things changed pretty quickly, though, once we started spending time with Elphaba," Tibbett continued. "Everything was an adventure then; a mystery waiting to be solved. Crope and I were pouring over books like _The Regent's Compendium_ instead of trashy romance novels, much to our mutual astonishment. How many days did we spend in this very café, drinking piss-awful tea while arguing over Lurlinism and other mythological twaddle?"

"They really were exciting times," said Boq wistfully, placing his hand on the back of Glinda's chair. "It was a shame you couldn't have been there with us, Glinda. I know we would have cherished your company."

She read along the lines of the paper. There were sketches and quotes from the _Oziad_ and a few other sources she was unfamiliar with, all written in Boq's tiny handwriting. "But what encouraged all of this?" she said. "How did Dr. Dillamond come to inspire you so?"

"Oh, it wasn't the Goat that inspired us," said Crope. "It was our darling, our dear Miss Elphaba."

Glinda blinked. "Elphaba?"

They all nodded. She stared at each of them, unsure if they were playing around with her, but the steadiness of their respective gazes convinced her that Crope was being perfectly sincere. All of this, and all for Elphaba?

"But… why?" she asked, unable to stop the words from spilling out of her mouth.

"Why? What do you _mean _why?" Crope howled in exasperation. "What's there _not_ to love about her?"

"She's headstrong…"

"Temperamental…"

"Argumentative…"

"Irritable…"

"Don't forget excessively insulting when drunk…"

"Or how tetchy she gets when you contradict her…"

"And we wouldn't have her any other way," Tibbett finished, and they all nodded again, each sporting a different kind of grin.

Glinda was dumfounded. Every last word her friends had related was a complete revelation to her, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. She knew that they all got on with Elphaba; that they endured her abuse and sarcasm better than anyone. But that they had expended so much time and effort just to work with her—to _be_ with her—toiling away for a cause that only Elphie or Boq seemed to genuinely care about—well, it was incredible. She was touched by their loyalty, even if she felt something in her heart that was strangely close to jealousy.

_To have spent every week here with her… to know and love her as well as they did… better than even her roommate knew her, after all of the time they'd shared…_

"I had no idea she meant so much to you all," she said, humbled.

"She's a revolutionary, Glinda," said Boq, boldly. "She moves and inspires like nothing else on the Unnamed God's green earth is capable of. Don't you feel it when you're near her? How her very presence stirs you with some unfathomable, exciting emotion?"

Glinda suddenly became very warm. "She _is_ intense, I suppose."

"Intense nothing," said Tibbett. "I've never met _anyone_ who was capable of inspiring me to give a toss about _anything_ in my life. Just ask my father. And yet, here is Elphie, infecting each of us with her all-consuming fervor over the polarizing theories of a miserable old Goat. Now she's turned me into something of a socially conscious scoundrel. Who would ever have imagined it?"

"She could take down the whole of Oz herself, if she wanted to" said Boq. "I myself have always admired Dillamond, but I never would have come this far or learned so much were it not for Elphaba."

"Indeed," said Crope. "We've each of us become rather fond of that wickedly green skin of hers, as sinful as it is. Mark my words, children, she's going to bring change to this place, even if she has to set this whole blessed country on fire to do it. There isn't a single thing our Elphie does that she doesn't do with passion."

Glinda's was now as warm as ever. "But why has she chosen to exclude you all, then? Why now, when preserving Dr. Dillamond's research is as important as ever?"

"Because Elphie is also a romantic," said Tibbett, making a resigned gesture with his hand. "She can't abide the thought of any of us coming to harm; not after what happened with the Goat. She'd rather carry on as the noble martyr, freeing herself of any guilt as she continues to chase her righteous cause."

"Her plans for the future probably involve tying herself to the gates of the Emerald City, or flinging herself in front of enemy fire while sparing us all an ignoble death," added Boq. "It's unbearably insulting when you think about it. We're practically adults now, and we're capable of making the decision for ourselves. Elphaba shouldn't get to choose for us."

Glinda absorbed their words carefully. "Well…" she said thoughtfully, "do you think she might listen to me? I mean, do you think she'd relent if I were to get involved?"

The whole table burst into laughter, though Glinda didn't understand their mirth.

"Oh my lovely Glinda," said Crope with a sigh. "You of _all _people would only make her convictions that much stronger. I think it's safe to say that the girl would abandon Shiz altogether before she'd see _you _come to harm."

Glinda frowned, and stared at Crope in confusion. "What does that- "

But she stopped.

A picture or painting fell out of the papers in her hand, lying on the cream-colored skirts of her lap. It had obviously been hidden between the pages of Boq's scrawling notes, though its inclusion in them was momentarily baffling.

It was the portrait of a woman, dressed in an unremarkable gown with a pair of ridiculously ornate shoes. She was nursing a wretched dog-like animal from her breast, cradling the thing over a watery ravine. Her expression was unreadable, either from wear or purposefully rendered thus for effect. The hand that grasped the sick little animal looked curiously and frighteningly familiar, holding the thing in a way that was as tender as it was painful. Neither old nor young, neither kept nor coarse, she was the essence of something from Glinda's nightmares; an unspoiled variation on a theme.

"What is this?" she whispered, the blood slowly draining from her face.

"That?" Boq asked, puzzled by her expression. "Oh. It's an old painting I found in the Three Queens library about a month ago—hidden away in an old codex. I guess I forgot to return it. Fascinating though, isn't it, Glinda? You're one of the few people that's looked at the thing in centuries."

The eyes on the figure were blurred beneath the thick oil paints, so dark as to appear practically nonexistent. Glinda's breathing grew shallow. "No. I mean, who is she?"

"Well, depending on who you listen to, it could either be the Kumbric Witch or Lurline after an unforgiving day at the salon," he chuckled. "See, we'd been reading early folklore on the supposed birth of the Animals, including myths about Lurline and the role of the Kumbric Witches during the time of the floods. When I saw it, I thought it might have been one of them, if not Kumbricia herself. Elphie seemed to think it was a lot of drivel, of course, and I suppose I can't blame her for thinking it."

_Kumbricia._

A chill went down Glinda's spine. The words of the Woman from her nightmare became clearer in her mind, ripped straight from that awful dream.

_Only blood will stay the floods as only blood ever does._

She gripped the painting more tightly in her hands. "Kumbricia?" she said, her voice flat and emotionless. "You think this is the Witch?"

Boq shrugged his shoulders and rubbed at the back of his neck. "It seemed plausible enough at the time, but doesn't it make a kind of sense? It could have been a baptism of sorts, or some kind of blood sacrifice. Who would know?"

A fair question, and yet—Glinda did.

_Are you afraid?_

She flung the paper back on the table. "I can't…" she stammered. "No."

"Glinda?" said Crope, unsure of what had alarmed her. "Are you alright?"

The Woman, the Witch was still in front of her, hiding behind her youthful mask of malevolent reds and browns. "No," she faltered. "Or yes- I mean yes, I'm fine." She quickly slid her chair back. "Forgive me, gentleman. I have to leave." With that, she turned to head for the door, failing to notice that her shawl had caught on the back of her chair.

"But Glinda!" said, Boq as he grabbed her shawl and hurried after her. "Glinda, wait!"

"I can't," she whispered in a frantic voice, refusing to look back at him. "I can't do this… I can't do this anymore… By the Unnamed God in heaven, why? _Why is this even happening?_"

She had reached the café entrance and was nearly out the door when Boq finally caught up with her. "Glinda," he breathed as he grabbed her arm, trying to get her to face him. "Please look at me! What's-"

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked, pulling her arm away so forcefully that Boq staggered backwards into a server before crashing down to the floor.

Everything suddenly came to a halting, screeching standstill as the entire room lapsed into silence. All eyes from every table were upon her, observing the scene with pure and complete astonishment.

Glinda looked out at the sea of faces surrounding her, watching them all through the fogged lenses of someone who might have been dreaming. Crope and Tibbett were standing at the back. An older couple were staring, slack-jawed, at the table right in front of them. Avaric was still at the counter beside the pretty server, and both were staring at her in utter disbelief.

Finally, her eyes fell on Boq where he sat sprawled on the floor, covered in tea and broken glass. He stared up at her in horror, clearly too stunned to move or speak.

"Boq," she whimpered, taking a hesitant step forward. "Boq I…"

He slid back, almost involuntarily. There was blood running down his left hand, and a small tear was glistening on his cheek.

Glinda choked back a sob. She couldn't take any more of it. It was tearing her apart.

She pushed open the doors and escaped into the city streets, trying to put as much distance between her friends and herself as possible. A cold northern wind had picked up by then, rustling the skirts of her dress and stinging every exposed inch of her flesh. It was as welcoming as it was unforgiving.

As she watched the storm clouds gathering overhead, Glinda realized that Crage Hall was no longer the hell she imagined it to be. The whole world had suddenly become her prison.

* * *

Who was Glinda Arduenna of the Uplands, and how had she fallen to this awful state of misery? Was she the unhappy victim of a series of tragic circumstances, or the unlikeliest of villains in a gruesome, horrific fairytale?

It was impossible to tell. All sense of self had clearly abandoned her. Fear was all she seemed to understand anymore, as all rational thought was replaced with uncertainty. Death was waiting for her at every turn; taking the guise of Goats and loved ones and witches alike. Every night was filled with terror, and every day was a grim reminder that even her sins could bleed into the light.

Glinda didn't know how she'd made it back to Crage Hall that day, or how she had managed the endless flight of stairs to her room. She only recalled the door slamming shut behind her, and pressing her back firmly against its surface. Thank Lurline she was finally alone. No one, not even Elphaba could save her now.

Slowly, steadily, she slid to the ground.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes, though she didn't fully understand why she was crying. Was it the incredulous look on Boq's face when she turned on him? The look on her friends' faces as she fled? Or was it the greater truth that Glinda hadn't allowed herself to consider; the very possibility that there was darkness within her that was beyond her understanding? She dug the flat of her palms against her forehead, and allowed her sobs to rack through her body.

So this is what her life had become. This was the fitting retribution for every transgression – every sin she'd ever committed. To be tortured by thoughts of a perverse and sickening nature; all for reasons she couldn't even begin to explain.

Couldn't it just be coincidence? A colorful caricature of a woman that was only _vaguely_ reminiscent of the cadaverous creature in her dreams? Why did anything have to have meaning? The world was built up of cruel and unjust imperfections; she knew this as well as anyone. Ama Clutch could only be suffering a short and passing illness, and Dr. Dillamond could be a victim of his own clumsy negligence. Paintings were only paintings, then. None of them bruised or frightened her.

And Temen… dear, dear Temen…

Her hands fell limply to her sides.

No. She couldn't do it. There was no pretending that all things were simply a matter of chance. Evil had discovered her; had somehow _become_ her, without her permission or consent.

She wiped the tears away from her eyes, too disgusted with herself to indulge her grief.

Without realizing it, her gaze had wandered over to Elphaba's bookshelf. Volume-after-volume of colorful bindings swam into her vision; the only true colors that Elphie really allowed herself. A word or two caught Glinda's eye, as blurred as they were by her tears.

She picked herself up from off the ground and hesitantly approached Elphaba's side of the room. A few little trinkets and tiny bottles lined the dusty shelf; a testament to her roommate's stark and uncluttered nature. Books were the only indulgence that Elphie seemed to allow herself, and she appeared to have a little of everything. Some were on the sciences. Many were on Animal theory. A few popular works of fiction were even scattered in the bunch, and of course, there were books on Ozian mythology. The worn red copy of the book she'd spotted came into view, as well as its title in gold printed letters: _The Kumbric Verses of Oz._ Glinda noted the loose binding, and was careful not to tear it as she pulled it down from the shelf.

It was an ancient volume that must have been printed nearly a century ago, as evident in the hard end-boards and crude, yellowing paper. There weren't any library markings that were visible, suggesting that Elphaba had most likely purchased it at one of the filthy bookstores crammed in Railway Square. She slid her hands along the cover, and turned to sit on Elphaba's bed.

Grey blankets were gathered in a frumpled mess where Elphie had left them that morning, either in too much of a hurry or too disinclined to fix them. Pulling back the sheet and bedspread, Glinda sat next to her roommate's pillow, momentarily comforted by the faint scent of Elphaba that lingered there. Then, placing the book on her lap, she gently turned back the cover and began thumbing through the different pages.

They were versus of poetry, all detailing the legends and myths that spoke of the Kumbric Witches. Glinda suspected that Elphie had made use of this during the summer months when she and the others were studying relationships between different versions of Ozian folklore. She could see the places where Elphaba had made indentations, or scribbled a few notes into the margins. '_Mentions of Animal transformation prior to flooding'_ one note read. '_A parallel for the pleasure-faithers?'_ read another. Glinda traced them all with her fingers, wholly fascinated by the idea of her roommate's thoughts laid bare before her. There was something so personal about it; so intimate even- like she was reading Elphaba's diary, or watching her undress. The thought made Glinda blush unexpectedly, and she quickly turned the page.

More writing. More notes. The poems occasionally included an archaic looking drawing of their subjects, even Kumbricia herself. Nothing was as fully rendered as the painting Boq had shown her, though, and no two likenesses were the same. They all looked so different from each other, yet underneath, there was a hint of recognition… a sense of familiarity. There was truth in all of them.

Voices could be heard outside in the hall, filtering through the door. As if awakened from a spell, Glinda looked up at the clock and noticed that it was nearly a quarter to six. Elphaba, Nanny, and Nessarose would probably be heading to supper, and she had promised Elphie that she would meet them in the dining hall. Wiping her face once again, she was just about to close the book when she suddenly noticed the page before her, one that she'd unconsciously flipped to.

There was a girl in stark profile, drawn with minimal features that lacked any value or contrast. On the opposite side of her was a large snakelike dragon, curled towards her in a mirror-like image of her own emotionless figure. They looked as if they were about to kiss, or were merely contemplating each other. Together they formed a single face, and their bodies were joined just beneath the torso. It was so unlike any drawing that Glinda had ever seen before; so fantastic and grossly bizarre. When she read the poem's title, she was equally, if not more, bewildered.

'The Familiar of Kumbricia.'

_Afore the eve of winter's slumber, _

_Resting under brilliant flame, _

_Lies the maid of whisper'd wonder,_

_Soft and sleeping; heart unclaimed._

_Tho' the dragon rents asunder_

_Flesh for feasting: Lurline's shame._

_Do waking dreams of earthly slaughter_

_Haunt the Kumbric's treasured daughter?_

_Burned in heart, or scorch'd by water? _

_Yet within the dragon's dreaming,_

_All things bend to silent will._

_Skin is burnt, a voice is screaming; _

_Love's forsaken sorrow'd kill._

_There we learn the deeper meaning-_

_What becomes is thus fulfilled._

Glinda sat perfectly still; a picture of immobility. Even her breathing couldn't betray her, nor the blood pulsing just beneath her skin.

She read the poem over and over until her vision became blurred and unfocused again. A small voice in the back of her mind was calling to her; willing Glinda to recall the words that were spoken in a darker, distant place.

_Are you looking for the Familiar, or are you looking for the Unknown?_

She slowly closed the book.

Strangely enough, there was a kind of pattern in the rough and scattered cracks along its covered binding. Perhaps it could be said that day that Glinda saw the patterns of her own life coming together in the tears and bends that rent its surface. For one who had never been fond of introspection, it was somehow fitting that she was now consumed by it.

In the hours that followed, even until the sun descended behind the far horizon, Glinda sat fixed by the window, staring out into the empty void that had suddenly become her fate. After folding herself within a soft blanket and leaning her head against the cold windowpane, the last of her tears dried with a promise that she would never sleep again.


	5. The Unknown

The Unknown

_Her glance did fall on the tired old looking glass, despite her intentions. _

_She thought: the Witch with her mirror. Who do we ever see but ourselves, _

_and _that's_ the curse._

-Wicked, p. 381

* * *

"Please, Miss Elphaba. Do have a seat."

Elphaba sat down a little stiffly in the chair opposite Madame Morrible's desk, doing her best to hide her unease under a look of informal regard. It didn't make much of a difference whether she was sitting or standing, unfortunately; she was going to be uncomfortable in the woman's presence regardless. Grommetik stood just to her left, clanking and whirring away in obvious anticipation for his next task. While Elphaba had no real idea why she had been summoned to the headmistress' office, it was clear that the reason wasn't liable to be good.

As if sensing her thoughts, Morrible favored her with an unconvincing smile, then motioned to Grommetik to fetch the tea service on the other side of the room.

"There, thingy," she said firmly. "Bring the tea, and _slowly_ this time. We can't have you cogging around and spilling milk all over the place, can we?"

The small Tiktok device let out a humming whine, and turned to fetch the tea with more attitude than was proper for a clockwork machine. Morrible ignored him, even when he graciously brought the tea over without spilling a single drop.

"No biscuits this time, eh? What a pity. Oh well, then. How do you take your tea, Miss Elphaba? Would you care for any sugar?"

"Just a slice of lemon, please," Elphaba replied. "Thank you."

Morrible handed her the teacup, and sat down to pour one of her own. "Well, well," she said, "now that we're all settled, I'd imagine you're rather anxious to find out why I've called you here this afternoon. No need to worry, dear. You're not in any trouble as I've _yet _managed to discover. It seems your Nanny has proven to be a most capable chaperone. Have you enjoyed having her here?"

"Yes, Madame," Elphaba replied.

"And your sister, Miss Nessarose? Has the transition been agreeable for her as well?"

"I believe so, Madame, though you might earn a more detailed answer if you were to ask her yourself."

Morrible took a sip of tea. "She's certainly inherited your superior intellect, Miss Elphaba. I must admit that we were all a bit concerned that she wouldn't be able to keep up with the curriculum, but she's proven quite the opposite. A rather capable young girl, if not perfectly tragic."

"Nessarose was always very good at picking up on things quickly," said Elphaba. "Her love of knowledge and learning was one of the few forms of independence she had growing up."

"Indeed," said Morrible. "And does she have plans for herself after she finishes school?"

"I couldn't say, Madame. I think our father expects her to settle in Colwen Grounds once the title of Eminent Thropp is officially bestowed on the next in line."

"Meaning you," said the headmistress bluntly.

Elphaba didn't reply. Morrible nodded anyway, apparently satisfied that her question had already been answered.

"Politics are always a headache to discuss, aren't they?" she smiled as she set her tea down on her desk. "And family politics at that. We're often given responsibilities that we never asked for, or at least have no interest in keeping. Still, I don't think we should _completely_ write off all of the possibilities you and Miss Nessarose possess to distinguish yourselves beyond what's merely expected of you. That is, after all, what we strive to offer you at this university: opportunities."

"That's very generous of you," said Elphaba, doing her best to maintain a blank expression.

"Not at all, Miss Elphaba- I only speak the truth. But pleasantries aside, I _did_ have an ulterior motive for calling you in here today."

Elphaba's body tensed. She watched as the headmistress leaned forward in her chair, clasping her long, claw-like hands in a point just under her chin.

"It's about your roommate."

Elphaba blinked. "Glinda?"

"Glinda… Galinda… whatever she insists on calling herself. But yes, I wanted to ask you about her. I understand that her behavior has been a bit worrying of late, as you may or may not have noticed."

"I'm not entirely sure what you mean," said Elphaba, betraying nothing of her own concerns.

Morrible's lip curled into something of a sneer. "_Don't_ you, Miss Elphaba, or are you merely feigning ignorance? Her professors tell me that her grades have declined, and that she's become increasingly anti-social with her friends. The little I've seen of her in her sorcery lectures has given me all the proof I need that the girl is clearly unwell. And as you're her roommate, I was hoping you might be able to provide greater detail on the _nature _of these symptoms so that we might know best what to do with her."

The blood in Elphaba's veins turned frigid. "_Do_ with her?"

"Oh really," Morrible huffed as if rebuking her. "You make me sound like a villain. I'm merely concerned for her health and well-being, Miss Elphaba. The girl has been on a bit of a decline for some weeks now, hasn't she?"

"You might call it that," Elphaba replied, keeping her anger in check. "I'm no expert on anyone's emotional well being, but I think it's fair to say that she never took what happened to her Ama very well."

"Ah, yes. Poor Ama Clutch…" Morrible stood from her chair and casually walked over to the nearby window, hands clasped firmly behind her back. "It's been a stressful year for all of us, hasn't it? So many changes… so many uncertainties..." She stared out of the window for several moments, almost as if she'd forgotten Elphaba was even there. It confused her more than it unsettled her, though Morrible had been plenty unsettling enough. When she eventually turned back to stare at her, the look she fixed on Elphaba was calculating. Malevolent.

Evil, even.

"I don't pretend to understand all of the ridiculous intrigues of you young people, Miss Elphaba, but I'm not so old as to guess there isn't something far more personal that is troubling our Miss Glinda. Her Ama might have been dear to her, but I'm not entirely sure that I believe it's the cause of all of this poor, undisciplined behavior. More likely the girl has quarreled with a lover, or had some sort of argument with her friends. Miss Greyling tells me that Glinda wants to drop out of sorcery now, and for such a talented young girl—well! Can you imagine my confusion?"

"Frankly, Madame, I had no idea that the heads of Shiz took such an undivided interest in only a handful of their students." It was as much of an implication as it was an observation, but Elphaba thought it was worth the risk of saying it. Morrible appeared to have caught her subtle insinuation as the corner of her eye twitched for a fraction of a second.

"It's no secret that your educators have a tendency to favor certain students above the others, Miss Elphaba," she said with a wry grin. "Oh, we try to encourage everyone to make the most of their education here at Shiz, but to own the truth, the larger portion of our energies are focused on those students who possess _real_ potential. I'm sure that's why our dearly departed Dr. Dillamond _encouraged_ you so fervently, don't you think so?"

It was impossible to be sure, but it seemed as though there was a perverse implication behind Morrible's words that was not at all to Elphaba's liking. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hand, but still, she remained silent.

"I can assure you that your suspicions of my motives are completely unfounded," Morrible went on. "Miss Glinda just happens to be a… _favorite _of mine, and I want to make sure that she has every opportunity to succeed."

"If that's the case, Madame Morrible, then I might recommend going to Glinda herself. All I can tell you is what you've heard from everyone else; she's quieter, a little more withdrawn, and that's roughly the extent of it. If she _has_ been quarreling with a lover of late, or failing any of her classes, she hasn't confided in _me_ about it."

Morrible scrutinized Elphaba for a hard minute, then smiled at her in an understanding, condescending fashion. "No—I don't suppose she would, would she? Well well. Thank you for time, Miss Elphaba. You may leave."

* * *

Elphaba stormed out of Morrible's office as irritated as ever. She hadn't been sure what the vile old witch had wanted, but this… _this._

Glinda. Everything always came back to Glinda. Was it not enough that Elphaba herself was having difficulty concentrating on _anything_ anymore with her roommate acting so contrary? How was she supposed to explain it?

She'd had no idea that Glinda was failing her classes, or that she had expressed a desire to drop out of sorcery. Sure, Glinda was bored when it came to most subjects in school, but the girl wasn't incompetent when it came to the application of her learning. So why this? Why now? Nothing seemed to be making sense. All that Elphaba _did _know was that the haughty, pretentious girl from Frottica that she had come to know and even grown fond of was dying right in front of her, and she couldn't explain why. Morrible may have had an inkling as to what was going on, but Glinda's despondency ran far beneath her perfect, painted exterior. Further than everyone could see.

Her eating habits were poorly. Food was picked at and largely discarded for the majority of the meals they shared together. It was unclear whether Glinda didn't have the stomach for it, or if she simply lacked the will.

When Glinda slept, if she slept at all, they were short stretches of nothing filled with tortured dreams and incomprehensible nightmares. Elphaba would wake every morning to find Glinda sitting up in bed, staring out into the grey dawn with glassy eyes and flesh so pale it was hardly a contrast to the sheets. These were the moments when Glinda was furthest away from her, in everything but the most physical sense of the word. Whatever she'd seen, or whatever she felt, she never discussed it with Elphaba.

Nor would Glinda return to the infirmary to visit Ama Clutch.

Most people were starting to keep their distance from her now as well. Where she had once been the focus of much social consideration, Glinda was now a prime subject for gossip and even ridicule. Elphaba had heard of the incident at the café weeks ago, though her friends had failed to give her any satisfactory answers on what precisely had happened. Most of the information had come from the well-oiled rumor mill that was Shiz University, and each version of the story was less credible than the last. She considered broaching the subject with Glinda herself, but the very idea seemed impossible. It was much easier to share meaningless discourse every morning as they would walk together, arm in arm. Nessa and Elphaba were the only people she really talked to, anyway, which was more of a credit to Nessa's willingness to befriend the friendless than it was Glinda's efforts to reach out to her.

It was a portrait of the strangest, most unlikely of friendships that Elphaba had ever possessed. Whichever way you looked at it, you never quite understood what you were seeing.

As Elphaba began to climb the outer stairs to the dining hall, she was greeted by Nanny and Nessarose, who were just heading out of the doors.

"There you are!" cried Nessa. "We were looking for you over an hour ago. What's been keeping you?"

"Forgive me for that," said Elphaba tersely. "I was summoned to the office of our illustrious Madame Head for a semi-hostile interrogation. It was quite unexpected, or I'd have kindly informed you to eat your sandwiches without me."

"Prickles and thorns already, and it's only one o'clock," Nessa sighed. "Give her the apple, Nanny, before she decides to eat us both. I'd guessed you'd have skipped lunch by now."

"No," said Elphaba, halting Nanny before she pulled the fruit out of her satchel. "Thank you for thinking of me, but I'm not all that hungry at the moment."

"Are you ever?" her sister replied while casually observing Elphaba's lanky figure. "I'm hardly surprised. What did Morrible want with you, anyway? Something far from pleasant, I'd gather."

"More so than you can imagine. Have you seen Glinda?"

"We're meeting her at the fountain near the library," Nanny spoke up. "She said she was going there to study after classes this morning. A good girl, that Glinda."

Elphaba gaped at them both. _"Again?"_

Nessa gave her a questioning look. "Academic accomplishment—the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom. This _is_ a place of learning, Elphaba, or have you completely forgotten?"

But Elphaba was already headed in the direction of the library, and chose to ignore the comment. "Morrible's been asking questions about her… things I had no knowledge of or knew very little about. I have to wonder what she's been studying all of this time if she's been doing so poorly in all of her classes."

"You should start minding what she reads, dear," said Nanny pointedly. "Chances are she's gotten into the sex books and wants to read the filth in secret."

"Nanny, there are no 'sex books' in a campus library, or not the kind that Glinda would find arousing," said Nessa. "At least I don't _think_ she would find them arousing, although—"

"Glinda!" Elphaba had all but shouted as she caught sight of her roommate stepping outside of the library doors. Glinda had to stop for a moment, briefly looking hesitant, but her eyes lit up the minute she saw them.

"Hello everyone," she said in a rush as she clutched her book-bag to her chest. "I'm sorry- I must have lost track of the time. Have you been waiting long?"

"Not at all," said Nessa cheerfully. "We were just discussing your new adoration with the campus library, actually."

"Keeping out of the adult sections, right Glinda dear?" said Nanny.

"Elphie's concerned that you've adopted the place," Nessa continued. "Apparently you've infiltrated her den of brooding and iniquity."

"Oh, have I?" Glinda laughed nervously, awkwardly. "Yes—yes I suppose I have. I'm… well, I'm a little behind in some of my classes..."

"Well it's nice to know I'm not the only one," Nessa sighed. "Some of the professors here can be so demanding; it's a wonder we're able to get anything done at all. And don't look to Elphaba for any sympathy, either. She seems to think that your increased efforts to learn are nothing but evil."

Glinda suddenly turned to Elphaba like she had just been struck across the face. "Why would you _say_ that?"

Elphaba frowned. "I didn't—"

"Nessarose! Elphaba," cried a voice behind them. The group turned to see Milla approaching with one of her companions, a shy first year that looked terrified to be standing in the company of either of the Thropp sisters. "How lucky to find you here! I'm not sure if you've heard, but the boys sent us an informal invite to the reading at Fellian Hall tonight. It's supposed to be wonderful! Lady Talmage will be favoring us with a selection from her sonnets—you can just imagine how excited Tibbett and Crope are. Can we count on you coming?"

"Thank you," Nessa replied. "We'd be delighted."

"Oh… hello, Glinda," said Milla awkwardly as she finally noticed her standing behind Elphaba. "Were you… did you want to join us at the reading tonight?"

Glinda couldn't look at her. "Thank you, Milla, but I'm afraid I can't tonight."

Elphaba could scarcely believe it. Milla had come all this way to extend the invitation to both her and Nessarose, and yet she'd all but insulted Glinda with a back-handed offer she'd never intended to give. By the Unnamed God, was the whole world going insane?

"Oh come on Glinda, you should reconsider," said Nessa earnestly. "Too much studying isn't good for the soul- we all need a little distraction from time to time. Come with us! I'll even make sure that Elphie is on her best behavior tonight."

Glinda faltered. "I…"

"Milla!" cried Shenshen from an even further distance off. "Quit blathering already and bring them over! The boys are waiting for us by the canal!"

"I hope it's wine and Winkies this afternoon," said Milla conspiratorially to Elphaba. She grabbed her friend's hand again and was even bold enough to wrap an arm around Nessarose. "Come on, then, ladies. We mustn't keep them waiting!"

They quickly turned up the path towards the Shiz gate with Nanny following, uttering a lot of sighs and complaints in their wake.

Elphaba turned to Glinda with a raised eyebrow, hoping that her blonde companion might accept the invitation to join them. The look that Glinda returned was sorrowful, but she smiled at her warmly all the same.

"You go on ahead, Elphie," said Glinda, taking a few steps backward. "We can talk later if you want, but I really should be—"

Elphaba quickly reached forward to catch her as Glinda accidentally stumbled over a hard incline in the pavement. She grasped Glinda's hand and swiftly pulled her close, but not before she caught sight of a trail of mismatched bruises that disappeared up and under her sleeve.

Elphaba gave a start. Before she fully realized what she was doing, she pulled Glinda's sleeve back to reveal the full extent of the damage. Before her, in perfect detail, were large purple and yellowish welts that vaguely resembled finger marks. Glinda shrunk back from the fierceness of Elphaba's gaze, even though she made no attempt to withdraw her hand from her grasp. Their eyes met at that moment, and for the first time in her life, Elphaba was overwhelmed with an emotion that she couldn't possibly name.

"Elphie…" Glinda whispered, clenching her hand tightly within hers.

"Elphaba, we're waiting!" yelled Nessa, who stood a far distance off with Nanny at her side.

The moment was broken. Glinda quickly withdrew her hand and tucked a blonde curl behind her ear before muttering a quiet apology. She fled before Elphaba could say anything further, though Elphaba had no earthly idea where she could even begin.

Of all of the revelations about her roommate that she'd learned that day, this was undoubtedly, undisputedly, the _very_ worst of any of them.

* * *

When Nessarose, Nanny, and Elphaba arrived at Fellian Hall that evening, Elphaba had already managed to work herself up into an even fiercer, more unforgiving temper than she was in earlier that afternoon. She'd greeted Nanny and Nessa outside of their rooms with a sharp glare, and failed to humor Nessa's moral deliberations with so much as a petty, blasphemous remark. This seemed to irritate Nessarose more than ever, curiously enough, as she wasn't quite used to being fully ignored by her sister. Elphaba couldn't pretend to care, however, so they'd walked to the building in stony silence with only Nanny offering the occasional, outrageous observation. This was the last place Elphaba wanted to be tonight, but there were questions that needed answering, and a certain love-sick Munchkinlander was going to be facing the brunt of them.

The whole situation was simply infuriating. She'd had all evening to think about Glinda and the desperate, pleading look her roommate had given her when she'd noticed the telltale signs of physical abuse along her arm. Thoughts of where or how it had happened turned her stomach, never mind the most pressing question of who had been responsible. There was just so damn much she didn't know… so much that Glinda was struggling to keep from everyone. Elphaba had seen the signs of bruises before; why hadn't she said anything then?

If Glinda had been suffering these cruelties for a long while, it could explain any number of the symptoms of her friend's current despondency. Had someone been firm with her? The jilted lover that Morrible hinted of? The thought angered her, but for conflicting reasons. It _was_ possible that the bruising could have been self-inflicted, of course, but the thought of that disturbed her even more.

Of one thing she was certain of, though: Boq had a lot to answer for.

They stepped into the foyer with a crowd of boys from Three Queens, and Elphaba had the temerity to snarl at a Glikkun who accidentally bumped into her shoulder. She smiled in small satisfaction at seeing him shrink back in terror, but that faded soon enough when she caught sight of her friends gathered near a tall display in the center of the room.

"Well praise to the Unnamed God and all of his colorful creations; the Thropp sisters have arrived," said Avaric with a flourish.

"Good evening, Master Avaric," said Nessa curtly. "You're looking every bit the sinner as usual."

He laughed cheerfully at her appraisal; almost even flirtatiously. "Saints and sinners, Miss Nessarose- they're the perfect compliment to each other, don't you think? After all, you can't have one without the other."

"Indeed," she said evenly. "Would you excuse me for a moment? I'm in need of some refreshment."

"By all means," he said with a bow as Nanny escorted her in the direction of the refreshment table. "And Elphie dearest, what a pleasure to see you. You're looking positively _viridian_ this evening." He turned to his companion and gently shoved him forward. "You remember Master Fiyero, of course? The Winkie antler magnet and Crope's latest darling. I'm sure you haven't forgotten our beloved Miss Elphaba, old chap. You'd have to be blind not to, or possibly deaf, and even _then_…"

"Hello again, Miss Elphaba," said Fiyero warmly, moving away from Avaric. "It's always a pleasure to see you. How—"

"Charmed," she said brusquely before pushing past the pair of them. She'd spotted Boq standing just behind Fiyero, engaged with the rest of the group in conversation and totally oblivious to her presence.

She grabbed a hold of his arm and pulled him around to face her, causing him to spill what little of his beverage remained in his glass.

"Hey!" he yelled as wine dribbled over his shoes. "What are you—?"

"We need to talk," she said sharply. "_Now_."

Elphaba began to drag him away in spite of his continued protestations while Crope and Tibbett made taunting noises as if to imply that Boq was in trouble. The girls and their Amas simply stared at them both, eyebrows raised, not quite sure what Elphaba was intending to do with him.

"Would you knock it off, Elphie?" he said, managing to wrench his arm out of her grasp. "There's no need to tear my arm off! You're stretching my coat!"

"Don't start giving me any ideas," she hissed, turning on him with a look that could have melted ice. "You're damn well lucky I don't tear _more_ than just your arm off."

Fiyero awkwardly cleared his throat, still standing beside them. Avaric whistled and grabbed the Winkie Prince's arm, pulling him out of the line of fire. "This way, dear fellow," said Avaric with a nod. "Let's leave the lovers to their quarrel and find some refreshments of our own. That redhead over in the corner is looking _particularly _scrumptious, wouldn't you agree?"

Elphaba continued to glare scornfully at Boq, who could only stare back at her with a look of pure disbelief. She turned and made her way out into the hall without looking behind her, fully expecting him to follow. There was an empty coat room up ahead, and she didn't fancy talking with him where inquisitive ears could get their fill of the conversation. They headed around the corner and into the room, where Elphaba promptly shut the door after Boq followed her inside. He looked as if he was about to voice his concerns over the inappropriateness of their meeting like this, but he could obviously sense that Elphaba was in no mood to fuss over propriety at present.

"Well?" he said. "Would you care to explain why you've just embarrassed us in front of all of our friends?"

"Not until you tell me just what in the hell has been going on between you and my roommate," she said, fuming. "And please don't insult my intelligence by saying you have no idea what I'm talking about."

He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, is _that_ what you dragged me in here for? Very well then, permit me to enlighten you. There is _nothing_ going on between Glinda and me. Nothing whatsoever. Not a word. Not a smile. Not even a friendly glance. It's been weeks since we've spoken to one another, and our last meeting required fourteen stitches along my hand an arm. Now, is that all, or did you have something else you wished to discuss?"

"Clearly she bruised your ego more than your arm," Elphaba sneered, "and I've heard the story plenty of times already. I _really_ should compliment you on all of the dramatic little embellishments that were clearly added to make her appear shrill and insane. Maybe you should give up on farming and take to writing fictitious nonsense instead."

"I didn't say a word about the incident to anyone," he said, offended. "I didn't _need _to. There were plenty of people there to witness it, and I can't very well stop the gossiping tongues of others. And Glinda's reputation isn't the only one that's suffered here. I'm sure you're aware of the damage that's been done to _my _reputation as a gentleman. The idea of me grasping at a helpless young woman with some rakish design to harm her? It's obscene."

"Scandal-mongering and foolish rumors have never held the slightest sway over my reasoning," she said. "The harm I speak of is exclusively physical in nature."

"Harm?" he asked. "What harm? What are you talking about?"

"There were dark bruises all up her arm, Boq. Fresh bruises. I saw them myself this afternoon."

Boq looked horror-stricken. "_What?"_

"Bruises—in the shape of finger marks," she continued. "Is that definitive enough for you, or do you suppose they magicked out of nowhere?"

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly unsettled. "Merciful hell… do you know how it happened?"

"I have no clue. Considering your most recent episode in the café, however, I thought _you_ might have a better idea."

"Now wait just a minute," he said, taking a step back. "You can't possibly think I had anything to do with it, Elphaba."

"What am I to know?" she said, arms folded. "As far as I'm aware, you're the only idiot who's been privileged enough to get near that supple skin of hers, and you've had plenty of opportunities to do it."

"Elphaba," he said firmly, "I swear to you by all that is holy and unholy alike that I have never so much as laid a _finger_ on her in any way that could have been harmful. The fact that you could accuse me of something so vile makes me question just what kind of an opinion you have of me!"

"I haven't accused you of anything. I'm merely stating facts. You're her fondest admirer; one would think you'd have _some_ idea of who was doing this, given that Briscoe Hall is just teeming with horny bastards who'd love nothing more than to have their way with her."

"Don't," he said in a disgusted voice. "I don't like what you're implying. If Glinda's been seeing another man, then I'm the last person to know about it. And why should I? It's not something she would ever confide in _me. _We're not exactly dating. So if she's taken up with some rakish brute elsewhere… well, then it was clearly none of my business."

"Really," she said sarcastically. "So feeling your way up her blouse at Lake Chorge isn't a qualification for _some_ kind of confidence?"

"Lurline above, Elphaba, just what in the hell do you want from me?" he said angrily, now raising his voice. "She won't _talk_ to me. Can you understand that? Not to me, not to anyone! I've made every attempt I can think of to see her, even in spite of her wounding me. Even in spite of everything! All I wanted was to help her, Elphaba, but she _doesn't_ want it. She doesn't _want __me_. Whatever she might have felt for me, if she ever felt anything—well, that's over and done with. Probably for good. So tell me, dear Elphie, what do you want me to do? Force myself on her until I drive her mad and she shoves me down a stairwell? No, I think not. I may be a love-sick little fool, but I do have my pride."

"Oh, is that what you'd call it?" Elphaba snarled, suddenly towering over him. "Pride? What a fair word for an imbecile who wiles away the evening hours in pear trees, leering at half-dressed college girls and following them around like a love-starved pet."

"That was different," he said defensively. "I may have been annoying, but I wasn't hurting her."

"So what do you call snubbing her this evening? What of this whole campaign to ostracize her from her friends? Do you think you're doing her a favor by it?"

"I told you before that I had nothing to do with that. Rumors come and go whether we like it or not; you should know that better than anyone. Besides, Glinda has _made_ herself an outcast, Elphie. She abandoned her friends _long_ before we abandoned her. So if I can't do anything else for her, and believe you me, I've tried—the least I can do is respect her wishes to be left alone."

Elphaba was furious. Boq was giving up, just like that. For all his professions of vehement love and adoration for her roommate, even _he_ was turning his back on her.

"You _are_ a fool," she whispered, unable to keep the contempt from dripping out of her voice.

"And you're a coward," he bit back.

The words caught Elphaba off-guard, but only for a split-second. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, refusing to let Elphaba intimidate him. "For all of your hooming and hawing over how badly everyone's been treating Glinda, it's amazing how quickly you are to excuse yourself from any of the blame. The one person—the _only_ person that she even acknowledges anymore is you, and you're too much of a damned coward to do anything about it."

Elphaba arched an eyebrow. "And just what in the name of Oz does _that_ mean? Have I ignored her? Am I distancing myself from her like the rest of you?"

"Oh spare me," he countered. "You've abandoned every one of us. Distance isn't always physical, you know. There's also the emotional kind that you seem to excel at; hell, you've even perfected it! Just admit it, Elphaba—you're as frustrated as the rest of us, and instead of actually _doing_ something about it, you're projecting all of your failures on everyone else. Me especially. You're terrified of how much you care about her, and the kind of personal sacrifice to your emotional seclusion that love really requires. You're her Oz-be-damned friend, Elphie, you should start acting like one."

Elphaba stiffened. "I'm not—"

"What?" he said, cutting her off. "Not as _qualified_ as the rest of us? Not _human _enough to sit down with her and _ask_ her what's really wrong? I know you, Miss Elphie, and I know how clever you are at inventing excuses for putting space between you and those you care about. You've gotten far too comfortable hiding under that green skin of yours, and the useless insecurities you insist on keeping sound even more contrived than they did three months ago."

"Contrived?" said Elphaba hotly. "_Invented?_ Do you really think that I paint myself this hideous shade of green because I get a perverse _satisfaction_ out of it? That I enjoy the abuses the world continually thrusts upon me—that I relish being physically incompatible with _everyone_?"

"No" he replied frankly. "I think you've grown so used to it that it's all that you _care_ to know. Your detachment has become a comfort—a security even, and you're too afraid to step out of it. So call me whatever you want, or beat me to a bloody pulp, but that won't change the fact that when it comes to opening up to another human being, you're more of a spineless coward than all of Shiz put together."

Elphaba was silent. She couldn't think of how to respond to him; it was one of the first times in her life that she had been completely rendered speechless.

The sound of faint applause filtered in through the walls, indicating that the program had already begun. Boq inhaled deeply and took his glasses off to better rub the bridge of his nose.

"You know how I feel about her, Elphie," he said more evenly, "and you know that I would do anything that I could to help. But I'm not the one she needs right now, and I'm not going to let you use me as an excuse to care about her anymore. You're going to have to learn how to do that yourself."

He slipped his glasses back on and slowly walked past her towards the door, though Elphaba remained stock-still in the center of the room.

"She adores you, you know," he said quietly, though he purposefully kept his back to her. "You mean more to her than all of those ruffled idiots combined. Don't ignore that, Elphie, and don't underestimate your worth to us all. She has to reach out to someone, and of everyone, I'd want it to be you."

He opened the door and walked out, leaving Elphaba to contemplate all that had passed between them. She wanted to argue with him; to bring him back in here and tell him why every single thing he'd said was wrong. But if there was one thing that Elphaba was good at, and she fancied that she was good at several things, it was her ability to admit when she was defeated.

And tonight was unquestionably a painful, bitter defeat.

* * *

The dark, stretching hours of the evening cast an eerie silence over the empty corridors of Crage Hall, though the night was filled with shifting moans and ghostly whisperings on the wind. For Glinda, the silence was both welcoming and dreadful; a place that existed somewhere in the muddled in-between.

These days, it was the only place she knew.

A powerful breeze rattled the loose shutters on the window, promptly disturbing her from her half-dreaming. She looked up from her book in a panic, half expecting to find the ghastly shadows of familiar nightmares waiting outside of her window. But the night was empty, and betrayed nothing of its secrets. The only thing she could see was her reflection staring back at her, faintly illuminated by the light of the waning fire.

Glinda let out a quivering breath and leaned back against the headboard of her bed. It was the third or fourth time she'd nearly dozed off within the last half hour, and she finally had to concede that it was impossible to concentrate anymore. Her perpetual exhaustion made studying difficult, though she had to admit that studying had _never_ been one of her greater virtues. Disturbed as she was, Glinda couldn't commit herself entirely to a life of reading with the same zealous passion as her roommate. The problem was that it was still early, and Elphie wouldn't be back for another three hours at least. She stared back down at the book in her lap, idly running a pale hand over the scrawling text. She could read the words well enough, but comprehension had vanished long ago with the setting sun.

Glinda turned and opened her night-stand drawer, reaching into the back to extricate a small container of pills. Shaking two out of the bottle, she swallowed them down with the last of her water, hoping the caffeinated supplements would help. She knew that she didn't have the strength to keep fighting off her fatigue in bed, however, so she closed the book and set it aside before rising stiffly up from the mattress.

The clock on her nightstand struck eight o'clock. She pressed her fingers into the back of her neck and massaged the soreness there, silently resolving to do what she could to stay awake. She could take a walk, perhaps, or head to the dining hall for a bite of something to eat. But food was undesirable, as well as the idea of leaving the room. In the end, she resolved on taking her bath a bit early, feeling it would be the best way to liven her spirits. Grabbing two towels from the linen basket, she turned to lock the front door, then headed into the adjoining washroom.

The door slowly creaked open as Glinda stepped into the musty darkness. She reached and turned up the gaslights, flooding the room with soft white light. It illuminated the brass fixtures and cast-iron bathtub in the corner, as well as the bottles and jars on the vanity she shared with Elphaba. After placing her towels on the rack beside the door, she moved over to the large basin and started the water running.

It had to be cold; that wasn't even a question. If it were warm, it would make her drowsy, and Glinda couldn't afford to fall asleep. An icy stream poured out of the faucet, and she held her wrist underneath it so that she could better adjust the temperature of the water. Once satisfied that it was to a bearable degree, she stood and began to remove her garments, shivering in reflexive anticipation of the water's chill. The satin slid down to the floor, pooling just around her feet. She picked her clothing up and folded it neatly over the chair near the vanity, careful not to disturb any of Elphaba's personal effects.

Glinda then stepped into the tub and gasped when the water made contact with her skin. This was the part she hated, but nevertheless endured. Gritting her teeth together, she stuck her other foot in and lowered herself down in the water, silently cringing as she did so. It swirled around her hunched and shivering figure, shocking her nerves and mind back into responsiveness. Taking quick shallow breaths, she wrapped her arms around her knees and embraced the sting, watching the water rise inch by inch up her frame. It was calming and revitalizing, though it could never completely free her of the hollow ache that lingered in the pit of her stomach. Once she became more accustomed to the water's temperature, she leaned back and rested her head against the edge of the tub.

Glinda knew she mustn't close her eyes. It was too dangerous. Too reckless. But she allowed the sounds of the water to soothe her, carrying her mind and spirit to better places. She stared up at the ceiling and allowed her imagination to wander as she studied the strange silhouettes cast by the reflected glow of the gaslight. It was almost like watching a play of shadow-puppets. Large heads and wide mouths would form and reform, looking both sinister and comical all at once. Her neck sunk lower and lower, until even her ears were dipped just below the water's surface.

In the indistinct gush of rushing water, she could hear her own heartbeat loud and steady, echoing throughout the corridors of her mind. It was proof, if only the weakest of proof, that Glinda was still alive.

Or proof that she might have been human.

What a pity, she thought, that the soul doesn't make a similar sound. How reassuring that would be—how wonderful to know that the Other part of you was as real and tangible as a slowly beating heart.

But perhaps that was the tragedy, or the horror, of what she felt. What if the soul, the Other, was a hideous thing? If it were real, or tangible, couldn't it destroy what was the better part?

The muffled sound of a child's laughter sounded in her ears, though they were still submerged beneath the water. At first she thought she might have simply imagined it, until it became a more pronounced, muffled shrieking. When she opened her eyes— _but when had she closed them?_—the bright lights of the room flooded her vision…

…As well as the black, mangled hands that reached down and grabbed her throat before pushing her back below the water's surface.

The scream that sounded in Glinda's throat turned to a drowned shriek as water rushed into her lungs. She twisted and struggled frantically against the hands about her throat, clawing desperately at her neck and the sides of the tub.

In the flash of churning water, she could scarcely make out the dark image of an indistinct shape hovering over her, though pain was blinding her vision. Her knees and feet banged against the sides of the tub as she thrashed against the crushing hands with every last ounce of strength in her body. The water around her was warm now, and quickly getting hot. The tap was pouring scalding water; Glinda could feel it near her feet.

Her eyes were blurring. Her fingers couldn't free herself from the sinister hands at her neck. She pleaded to God and Lurline above that they would save her, but the prayers were lost in the choking water that burned deep in her throat.

Then, as suddenly as they had taken hold of her, she felt the hands release.

Glinda quickly pushed herself up to the surface with a strangled gasp; choking and coughing as air flooded painfully back into her lungs. She clambered out of the bathtub without a second thought, desperate to be free of the heat and the hands that had nearly drowned her. She stumbled onto the floor, still gasping up lungfuls of water, and struggled to get to her hands and knees.

Scorching water was still pouring out of the faucet and over the sides of the tub. With a choked cry, she reached over to shut it off, clumsily working the valves with both hands. She screamed in pain and frustration as the metal burned her, but her efforts were all in vain. The water wouldn't turn off; it continued to surge under the high, heated pressure.

The gaslights in the room flickered and hummed around her, burning low and flaring to brilliance in quick, erratic succession. She cried out in a deranged panic, grabbing fistfuls of hair in her hands as she watched the room spin from darkness to light and light to darkness.

"_Get away from me!_" she screamed, pressing her palms tightly against her temples. "_You can't do this! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!_"

But the Other didn't seem to hear.

Glinda looked hysterically around the room. The door. She had to get to the door.

She slipped and slid over the wet ground, crawling frantically towards the washroom entry as it appeared in and out of her vision. She ignored the pain in her hands and wrists, believing that salvation lay just ahead if she could only reach it. Closer... closer...

The door quickly rose up before her, and she pressed herself against its frame with a soft prayer of thanks. Glinda then reached the handle with stiff and shaking fingers, feeling it jerk when she went to turn it.

The door was locked.

She collapsed against it with a blood-curling shriek, and began pounding on it with her fists.

"_HELP ME!_" she screamed, forcing the handle again and again but failing to wrench it open. _"Anyone, please! Please let me out!"_

She pounded the door until her hands bled raw. Her screams rang out like the tortured cries of an animal, but still, no one could hear her.

Suddenly, and without warning, the lights finally sputtered out.

Glinda stood trembling in the darkness, feeling an all new surge of fear run through her. Her heart was thudding painfully within her breast. Her hands were shaking violently. She pressed her flesh against the door, more out of fear than instability.

The room was pitch black. She couldn't see anything around her. All she could hear was the sounds of the still running water over the quiet rasp of her own erratic breathing. She had to think. She had to reason with herself. Matches. There was a box of matches on the dressing table. They were only a few feet away. It was just a matter of divining her way there in the darkness.

All she had to do was move forward.

She took a deep, uncertain breath and reached out with a shaking hand. Slowly, inch by inch, she crept forward in the general direction of the vanity, feeling her breathing grow heavier with each and every step. It felt as if she were walking in eternal darkness; like there was nothing real to hold or feel around her. In many ways, it was even more terrifying than the hands had been—the perpetual fear of the unknown.

There was a moment of panic when her fingers made contact with a hard surface. To her relief, she discovered that it was the corner of the dressing table, and that the matches were close at hand.

She slid her hands in every direction, occasionally knocking over a bottle or finding a small ribbon she'd use as a hair-tie. She tried to be calm, _forcing_ herself to move slowly lest she accidentally pass over it. After what seemed an eternity, the rough paper surface of the matchbox brushed against the corner of her fingers. She snatched it up and fumbled to grasp one of the sticks inside, but her movements were maddeningly clumsy. She struck one against the granulated strip, but the head broke off at the top. She reached for another and tried again, but her damp fingers had spoiled the flint. Damn her hands. Why couldn't she stop shaking?

She tried a third one.

The small flame sparked to life in the surrounding blackness, wrapping her trembling figure in a dim orange glow. She breathed a short sigh of relief, but the comfort, unfortunately, was only fleeting.

As Glinda stood there, trembling in the center of the room, she realized with sickening clarity that the heavy breathing she could hear was no longer her own.

Her heart slowed to a steady thrum. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. Still holding the burning match between her fingers, she allowed herself this moment of quiet, dreaded calm before facing what was most assuredly her death.

Slowly… slowly …she turned around.

Pale light gave form to the charred and ruined face behind her, glinting malevolently off of cracked skin and gnashing, yellowed teeth. Black, mangled hands reached towards her, forming out of the darkness to pull her into an embrace.

The flame extinguished. The scream never rose past her throat. And at that moment, all faded to black, and Glinda knew no more.


	6. A Storybook Romance

A Storybook Romance

_The Goddess of gifts the last, reaching in among flame and water,_

_cradling her, crooning something, but the words remain unclear._

-Wicked, p. 515

* * *

The scattered starlight of a cold autumn evening found Elphaba walking quietly along the frozen footpaths of the Shiz campus grounds; back towards Crage Hall and the warmth of her own bedroom. The performance at Fellian Hall had begun mere moments ago, but it would have been impossible for her to spend another minute there in the company of her friends, particularly after what had transpired between her and Boq.

He had gotten to her, there was no mistaking that. In another time or another place, she might even have respected him for it. But with regards to the here and now, there was only resentment, coupled with her habitual irritation with him. Every carefully constructed criticism he'd leveled at her tore at her conscience, prompting her to do the unthinkable by leaving early to seek Glinda out. It was, as always, one of the hastiest, most ill-considered decisions she'd ever made, but Glinda invariably had a way of persuading Elphaba to do the impossible. So she'd left without telling anyone, neither knowing nor caring how they would react. She would have Nessarose to answer to in the morning, undoubtedly, but even _that_ was strangely irrelevant to her, so focused she was on her own supposed shortcomings.

The large doors of Crage Hall loomed before her more quickly than she had anticipated, inviting a kind of tranquil menace in with them. Elphaba clenched her jaw and stepped through the soft-lit entrance, trying to calm her nerves as best she could. Hardly any sound could be heard in the building; it seemed as though everyone had gone to the performance that evening. _All the better_, she said to herself. It wouldn't do to try and talk to Glinda with a lot of noisy distractions pressing down on them.

As she began climbing the stairs one-by-one, Elphaba wondered for the hundredth time that night whether or not she was making a terrible mistake. She'd had plenty of time to reconsider on the journey back, of course, but stubbornness kept her moving forward. If she didn't do this now, she might lose her nerve altogether. Better just to get things over with and hope that Boq wasn't wrong.

After making her way to the second floor, she started quietly down the corridor to their room, watching the gaslights flicker and fade along the walls around her. Upon reaching the door, she found that it was locked, and fumbled around in her pocket for the key. Glinda must have gone out after all, or maybe she was just edgy about being there by herself. Elphaba unlocked the door and stepped into the room, noting her roommate's absence almost immediately.

"Glinda?" she called.

There was no answer. She could hear the sounds of running water coming from the washroom, however, indicating that Glinda was obviously taking a bath.

Elphaba let out a weary sigh as she slipped her cap off of her head. Now that she was standing in the middle of their room, she felt all the foolishness of dashing back here with such melodramatic haste as would be befitting some theatrical production. What did she think she was going to do—come crashing through the doorway to boldly grab her roommate and _demand_ the truth out of her? How could she even have contemplated something so utterly ridiculous?

Damn Boq. Damn him and all of his four-foot idiocy. This was _his_ fault, if anything. He had turned her into some overly-anxious train-wreck.

Elphaba wandered over to her side of the room and sat down heavily on her mattress, running her hands behind her neck with a long, drawn out breath. Maybe it was good that Glinda hadn't been here to greet her. It would give her time to think, or time to prepare whatever she had come back to say in the first place.

_I apologize for returning early in this ridiculously maudlin fashion, but I felt pressed to voice my concerns over your well-being, as I've noticed that you've been emotionally remiss for quite some time…_

Hell and Oz, it even sounded stupid in her head.

Rubbing the back of her neck with cool fingers, she briefly considered heading down to the kitchens for tea while Glinda had her bath. Her gaze wandered over to her roommate's bed where she noted the creased blankets and goose down pillows stacked unevenly against the headboard. There was a book resting on Glinda's comforter, a cracked and filthy looking tome that had no business at all being anywhere _near _her roommate's personal belongings. Elphaba studied it for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, then eventually stood up to get a better look at it.

The book was laying face down, half-buried beneath the tangle of blankets and pillows. She picked it up, surprised by its weight, and turned it over in her hands. _Handmaids of the Fire Serpent _was printed along the cover above a faded illustration of a toothless dragon. _A peculiar reference for a second-year sorcery student_ Elphaba thought, and she flipped through the pages with mild curiosity. Images of deformed women and gruesome looking Animals were spread across the interior, accompanied by bold texts in two different languages. Her frown deepened the further on she read, specifically when the subject matter grew considerably more graphic. Serpents feasting on the eyes of a child... a demon fornicating with a headless girl. A portrait of a village consumed by fire, and a young maiden dancing within the flames. What on earth would Glinda be doing with a book like this? What was she hoping to learn?

It could have been instinctive, or an unsettling premonition, but whatever the case might have been, a sudden uneasiness crept over Elphaba. She could still hear the sounds of running water coming from the washroom, but something seemed strangely off to her.

Wrong.

"Glinda?" she called, suddenly needing to hear her roommate's voice.

Glinda didn't answer.

Elphaba closed the book and set it back down on the mattress, feeling her unease starting to sink in further.

"Glinda?" she called again.

Still no response.

Elphaba stood there for a moment, listening intently, then crossed over to the washroom door and knocked on it sharply.

"Glinda," she said more firmly this time. "Glinda, answer me. I need to talk to you." She waited in earnest for a response from her companion, though none seemed to be forthcoming.

She was just about to knock again, when abruptly, Elphaba looked down and noticed water seeping under the door. She took a step back in reflexive alarm, watching as it soaked into the rug near her boots. She looked back up at the door, feeling a cold wave of horror wash over her, and quickly began to pound on it with her fist.

"Glinda, open this door right now!" she yelled, and even tried the handle.

It was a relief to find it unlocked.

She quickly stepped into the darkness, splashing in small pools of water that covered the entire floor. The faint hint of sulfur hung in the air, combined with the metallic scent of the water. She reached up to turn the gaslights on, permitting white light to flood the entire room. The sight that greeted Elphaba was a lot for her to process at first, though she took it all in within a number of soul-shattering seconds.

Water was pouring out of the faucet. The tub had flooded over. And in the middle of the room lay Glinda's pale and lifeless body, crumpled awkwardly in a heap on the floor.

Time itself seemed to stop in that moment; or was it merely Elphaba's heart? It was impossible to describe the emotions running through her, and Elphaba scarcely had time to comprehend them herself. She rushed forward without thinking, reaching for Glinda and drawing back with a sharp hiss when her hands came into contact with wet skin. She clenched her fists and breathed deeply, trying to ignore the pain as she hunched down near her roommate in a panic.

"Glinda," she gasped, prodding the girl's face and shoulders with both of her hands. Glinda's head slumped backwards at Elphaba's pressing, revealing a ghastly display of claw-marks along her neck. Elphaba shrank back in horror, but wouldn't allow herself to feel the weight of it all just yet. The skin she touched was deathly cold, and the pulse at Glinda's throat was faint.

_No…not like this. Not here… not now… Good hell,_ _the bruises are all over her!_

"Glinda," she breathed, holding her friend's face in her hands. "Glinda darling, wake up. Do you hear me? _Wake up!_ You can't do this to me now… _don't do this to me!"_

A rough moan escaped Glinda's throat. Elphaba's breath quickened at the sound, and she even managed a brief smile when she saw her roommate slowly stirring to life.

"My sweet… my sweet… can you hear me?" said Elphaba, leaning forward.

The response was muffled, as Glinda hadn't quite regained consciousness yet.

Elphaba ran shaking fingers over her brow and frantically looked around the room. She had to get Glinda out of here; that was her first priority. She stood and stepped carefully over to the basin, reaching to turn the faucet off while avoiding the stream of water. The handles were freezing, so she could only guess how cold the water was. A few quick turns, and it trickled to a stop. Elphaba then began searching the room for a nearby towel and spotted the pair that Glinda had undoubtedly brought in with her. As she moved to yank them off the rack, she could see that Glinda was slowly becoming more aware of her surroundings and had started to violently shiver.

"Elphie?" Glinda whispered as her eyes fluttered open.

"Hush, dear," Elphaba murmured, hunching down next to Glinda and placing the towels over her. "We have to move you, and I'm going to need your help." She took hold of Glinda's hand and dried it with the towel before sliding it over her shoulder. "Can you put your arm around me and hold onto me tightly? Yes, just like that. Grab a hold of my coat if you have to, but don't let go. Now... lean up, right against me… I can't reach down into the water, dearest, you have to lean closer. Just a little higher up… there's a girl. Remember to keep a firm hold on me. I have to get you somewhere dry."

Elphaba slid her hands underneath and around Glinda's body, resting them on the towels that covered her slender frame. With a deep breath, she lifted her into her arms, feeling the strain on her back as well as the burn of the water seeping through. Glinda's head rolled back as she was lifted into the air, but she managed to lean forward as Elphaba finally steadied them. She unconsciously pressed her face into Elphaba's shoulder, and Elphaba tried not to wince when water started to seep through her coat. She was thankful, at least, that she'd kept it on when she'd returned to their room.

She carried Glinda out as quickly as she could manage, worried that she might lose her balance and slip on the wet floor. It had been a while since she'd tried to carry anyone like this, but Glinda thankfully weighed much less than Nessarose; proof of her roommate's withering health. The arm around her neck was appreciated as well, even if Glinda had little strength to offer her. Elphaba brought her close to the fire where she carefully set her on the chaise lounge that Glinda had added to their room last year.

"Here," she said, lowering her onto the seat and quickly scooting it near the fire. "Just lean back for a moment and I'll get you a blanket. Can you sit up for me? Good." Elphaba rushed over to grab her thickest blanket off of her bed and brought it back to wrap around Glinda's shoulders. The dark bruises along Glinda's arms and torso looked even more ghastly in the firelight, and Elphaba had to repress a shudder as she folded the blanket over her friend.

"Fire's too low," she muttered distractedly, and grabbed the poker to begin stoking the flames. "Keep rubbing your arms and your chest for me. We have to get you warm."

Once the fire was high and blazing, Elphaba turned to Glinda again and took her face in her hands. She gently pressed her eyelids open, looking for signs of dilation. "Does your head hurt? Is your vision blurry?"

"N-no…" said Glinda, tilting her head back slightly. "My head feels—I can't…"

"What _happened?_" said Elphaba, running her fingers around Glinda's skull. "Do you remember how you fell?"

Her friend seemed to shudder at the question. "I… I must have fainted…"

Elphaba nodded, then quickly stood up again. "I have to go get one of the heads of house. I'm no doctor, and I can't be sure if any serious damage has been done. We need to get you to the infirmary."

"No, you can't!" cried Glinda, suddenly horrified.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, dear, I promise. Just stay close to the fire and try not to fall asleep—"

"Elphie, no!" Glinda breathed, suddenly clutching her arm in a vice-like grip. "You can't tell anyone—they mustn't see me like this!"

"Glinda…"

"_Please,"_ she begged. "Please don't leave me again tonight! I can't be here alone. Just… just stay here with me—please Elphie. I promise you I'm alright."

Elphaba stared at her intently, watching the firelight gleam and flicker in the startled reflection of Glinda's gaze. She pursed her lips together in silent deliberation, warring once again with her own better judgment.

"I'll trust you then, shall I Glinda?" she said softly. "I wonder, though, if you could trust me in return. If I asked you, for example, to start being honest with me, would you tell me what I wanted to hear?"

Glinda seemed to understand what she was asking, as she was no longer capable of looking at her. She lowered her head in shameful guilt, but didn't let go of Elphaba's arm.

It was all the answer that Elphaba needed, and it made her more furious with Boq than before.

"No… of course you wouldn't," said Elphaba with a slight edge to her voice. She slid out of Glinda's grip and stalked over to her dresser, where she opened a drawer and began sifting through her belongings in frustration. "And why should you? It's not as if I've been standing here for the past two months—watching you kill yourself without being able to do a damn thing about it."

She managed to locate two small bottles with a roll of gauze, and pulled them out of her dresser drawer. She uncapped one of the bottles and poured its contents into her hand, expertly applying it to the burns on her palms. The ointment helped to numb the pain, but it couldn't soothe it completely.

"You don't eat," she continued, "you don't speak… you hide what are _clearly_ signs of abuse, and all I can do is watch it happen… pretending that I don't care."

She rolled the gauze over her hands, tearing off pieces with a force that wasn't wholly necessary. "Boq is fed up, Morrible's been trying to wring answers out of me, and when I finally manage to work up the nerve to _ask_ you about it, no explanation is forthcoming. I come home to find you lying unconscious in the bathroom, which may have been the longest most sickening moments of my life, and though I fear the worst has happened to you, you're still able to look me in the eye and tell me that nothing is wrong. It's incredible, really. This friendship has become the perfect farce."

Elphaba angrily shrugged off her coat and flung it on the ground before kicking her boots off and tossing them aside. She grabbed the other bottle and walked back towards Glinda, kneeling down in front of her to begin applying ointment to the angry-looking scars around her neck. She could see the fresh tears falling down Glinda's cheek, which only compounded her anger further; less with Glinda than with herself. A few moments passed of tense silence, with only the crackling fire to disturb them.

"If I told you," said Glinda slowly, "that I was responsible for Ama Clutch's illness, or even Dr. Dillamond's murder … what would you say to me? Would you believe me?"

Elphaba stopped and looked up at her companion, more startled to hear her speak than the meaning behind her words. "I'd say that your talents were being wasted here," she quipped as she continued massaging ointment into Glinda's skin. "Spreading diseases of the mind and committing murder? You'd do well working for the Wizard."

"Elphaba, please," Glinda pleaded, suddenly taking a hold of the green hand on her neck. "I'm being serious— if I told you that I was responsible, what would you say?"

Elphaba studied Glinda carefully, not quite sure where she was going with this. "Well," she said more thoughtfully, "knowing me, I suppose I'd want to know how and when it was done before moving on to the whys. Why, for example, would a charmingly naïve young girl from Gillikin want to slit her biology professor's throat in cold blood?"

Her friend leveled her with a cold, glassy stare. "I'm not naïve, Elphaba," she said quietly, almost cynically. "That's the first mistake you make. You only see this made-up little shell; never really guessing what secretly lies within."

Her roommate turned her gaze towards the fire as if searching for solace among the flames. The tired yet graceful slope of her profile reminded Elphaba of the Appleruian statues surrounding her great-grandfather's estate: broken, beautiful, and carved into lifelike portraits of grief. The dark rings under her eyes did nothing to diminish their perfect luster, nor could the slight hollow to her cheeks render her anything but elegant and refined. Even now, with damp hair clinging to her shoulders and fierce red marks along her neck, Glinda was beautiful.

What, indeed, lay beneath it all?

"Glinda," said, Elphaba, taking a hold of her roommate's battered hands. "You _need_ to tell me what's wrong. We can't keep doing this to each other. I _can't_ turn away this time and pretend as if I don't know what's going on; nor do I want to. I'm asking you to confide in me, because I sincerely want to help. You're confused—afraid. I understand this. What I _don't_ understand is why you insist on holding back, particularly from me, of all people."

"But don't you?" cried Glinda, wiping the tears from her eyes in frustration. "Is it really so difficult to see? Just look at me, Elphaba! It's written across my skin; it's twisted itself around my heart. There's _evil_ inside of me—something darker than you could ever imagine. Do you understand what it's like to know what I know, and to have to endure it alone?"

She shook her head and wept bitterly, clearly trying to sort through her emotions. Elphaba watched her, uncomprehending, but kept Glinda's hands in hers.

"Elphie," Glinda whimpered, entwining their fingers together, "you're the single most important person in the world to me; the only source of comfort I have left. Can you begrudge me my silence when the truth would only sicken you? Could you forgive me for that, if nothing else, because I so desperately need you?"

She reached up and touched Elphaba's face, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear with cold, quivering fingers. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Just thinking about it terrifies me even now."

Elphaba didn't know what to say. Her blanketed cynicism usually made these sorts of declarations little more than laughable to her, but there was a frightening honesty in her friend's countenance that made her heart flutter; a sensation that she wasn't entirely used to.

"Then you should know how _I_ feel," she said quietly, "because I don't want to lose you either."

Glinda closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, obviously trying to summon the courage to speak. "Do you promise me," she whispered, "that when I tell you the truth, you won't think ill of me, or refuse to speak to me again?"

"I think you already have enough self-loathing and guilt to blanket all of Oz, my dear. But if it helps, then yes. You have my word."

Glinda took a shuddering breath, then calmly met Elphaba's gaze. "Are you acquainted with the stories of the Familiar of Kumbricia?"

Elphaba arched an eyebrow. She had prepared herself to hear Glinda say any number of things, but that _definitely_ wasn't one of them. "Vaguely," she said a bit warily. "They're a bit more obscure than traditional Ozian folklore, but that doesn't mean much of anything. You _are_ referring to those sordid tales of the mainland women who went insane?"

"Not just insane," said Glinda darkly. "They were women who spread death and destruction; powerful enough to alter the elements, and bend the fates to their will. Women who could rewrite the course of history through sacrifice and fire—"

"—as they were supposedly all half-dragon, or some other such rot. Yes, I remember the stories now. What of them?"

Glinda's gaze never wavered. "What would you say if I told you that I thought I may be one of them?"

Elphaba stared openly at her companion, then burst into incredulous laughter.

"You don't believe me?" said Glinda, looking both angry and hurt.

"Well, I _am_ beginning to think that you've gone insane," said Elphaba, "but what that has to do with some ridiculous old wives' tale is beyond me. The Kumbric Witch is nothing more than a myth, Glinda—and that includes all of her Familiars. Ozians were full of primitive superstitions during the turn of the century; it explains quite a _lot_ of our folklore. When some mad woman sets fire to a village in Fanarra and kills over half of its inhabitants, people suddenly conjure up stories about how she must be the Kumbric Witch's pet. It's nonsense, my dear, and poorly moralized at that. How could you ever take it seriously?"

"How can you be so sure that it isn't true?" said Glinda earnestly. "How can you assign truth to something that has no shape or form?"

She thrust out her arms in front of Elphaba, exposing the violent marks along her skin. "Tell me…how do you explain these bruises all over my body? Do you think some silly _lover _did this to me? Do you imagine I did it myself? Because I can assure you, Miss Elphaba, that the truth is far more unsettling, no matter what those fools have been saying about me. I wake screaming in the middle of the night; feeling the hands of phantom demons upon me. Nightmares crawl faceless towards me into the dawn, twisting their fingers deep in my flesh while drawing blood to the surface. I can't understand it; I don't even know what it means! Am I being tormented by the living dead, or has an ancient madness consumed me as well? You're clever, Elphie, but there are things in this world that even _you_ can't explain. These stories… these myths, however exaggerated they may be, they're based in _some_ form of truth. You've said as much yourself. I may not know the reasoning behind it; all I know is that it's _real_."

They sat like that for a moment in silence. Elphaba looked down at the arms her roommate held in front of her, examining the marks more carefully. What Glinda had told her seemed more than a little fantastical, but she had to concede that the bruises looked too deep—too evenly formed for Glinda to have done them herself.

"This happens to you when you're asleep?" she asked.

"Asleep… awake… they've been bleeding together for weeks now," said Glinda despairingly.

Elphaba bit her bottom lip as she ran her fingers along Glinda's arm. "You shouldn't have hid these from me, Glinda. Imagined or not, something has clearly been hurting you."

"Or warning me," she said evenly, "that further harm is to come."

Elphaba raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"We've talked of sorcery before," said Glinda, adjusting the blanket around her again. "About its imperfections, and how our understanding of it is limited at best. We… conjure things with a few chosen words, or shift matter with a series of thoughts. Well, what if we had no control over it? What if some… some darker power within us was capable of bending the world to our will, as it did in these stories of the Familiars?"

Elphaba was more confused than she was before. "You're asking me if I believe if a person is capable of altering the world around them without knowing _how_ they're doing it, or _where_ the power is coming from?"

Glinda nodded.

"I'd say that was absurd, or bordering on religious; not that I've ever placed much distinction between the two. Magick isn't a rational discipline, but even sorcery has its own set of rules and limitations. We aren't just walking vessels of dark, incomprehensible powers."

"Really?" said Glinda. "Is that why Ama Clutch is suffering from an illness that I invented; a stupid disease that I completely made up?"

Elphaba blinked, now lost entirely. "What?"

"I made it up Elphie!" cried Glinda with a false laugh. "I said that she was mad and had a proclivity for speaking to inanimate objects… just to secure a room outside of the dormitories! It was the most ludicrous thing I could think of, yet there she lies in the infirmary, talking to nails and dying in her bed. How is that a coincidence? What other explanation can there be for it, other than I somehow willed her to be sick?"

"It's a bit odd, I'll give you that," said Elphaba thoughtfully. "I'd always wondered how you managed to trick Morrible into getting you out of the dorms. Fine, then. You're convinced that you hexed your Ama because you made-up some illness that she's now suffering from. Is that all there is to it?"

"No…" Glinda started, then suddenly lost her nerve. "It was more than that. It… it was something she'd said to me at the infirmary…that day we went to visit her. Something she would have known nothing about, or at least I'm certain she wouldn't have..."

"What?" Elphaba asked. "Startling family secrets? A past indiscretion of yours?"

"A memory," said Glinda blankly, "from my childhood. One that I've never told anyone before."

The crackling fire gave shape to the silence that surrounded them, filling the room with everything left unsaid. Glinda appeared to sink further within herself, but Elphaba was there to take her hands, unwilling to be shut out again.

"When… when I was younger," she began timidly, "there was a… boy. A young boy that lived with his grandfather on the far end of our family's estate. Rich in title; poor in wealth and affluence. His name… his name was Temen."

She faltered here, as if even the sound of his name was capable of causing her anguish. Elphaba brushed her thumbs over Glinda's fingers in silent encouragement, and Glinda slowly entwined them through Elphaba's, hoping to find her courage there.

"We spent every waking moment together," she continued, "chasing each other in the forest and inventing games as children are wont to do. We were sweethearts of a kind, I guess. Temen used to laugh and tell me that we would be married someday; how we would live in a castle and keep large white dragons for pets. He was my world back then. I loved him more than anything."

There was genuine sorrow in Glinda's voice, and a faraway look of wonder glistening in her eyes. It was so unguarded and beautifully sincere, that Elphaba was touched in spite of herself. Over the past year they had spent together, there were few moments where Elphaba witnessed a genuine thought or feeling expressed by her companion, whose sentiments were often as tailored as the dresses she wore. But those few moments of sincerity were always a revelation to her, and reminded her why she adored this girl so fervently.

Glinda closed her eyes suddenly, struggling to find the words to go on. "We… happened upon a path one day, when we were out chasing each other through the woods. Feeling adventurous, we decided to follow it, and stumbled across an abandoned old wood-mill that time seemed to have forgotten. The thing was a wreck, and horribly unsafe, but to two young children, it was the perfect playground for our imaginations. We decided that it was going to be our secret castle, hidden away from everyone and known only to ourselves.

"Well, one night in late highsummer, during the Solstice Festival, Temen convinced me to meet him there, thinking it would be fun to spend the evening telling ghost stories to each other. We took a lantern and wandered into the woods, hand in hand, to our enchanted broken castle. There had been a full moon that night, so it was easy to find our way. Once there, Temen insisted on a game of hide-and-seek, and I consented to be the one to find him."

Glinda stopped speaking. Her hands clenched Elphaba's as if she were in pain, little realizing the pain she was bestowing on a pair of recently burned ones. Elphaba chose to ignore it, however, concerned as she was at seeing Glinda so distressed.

"I… don't remember how it happened…" she said in a shaky voice, "which one of us had hung the lantern too precariously on the nail fastened to the wall. But when I managed to climb the stairs to the balcony railing in search of him, the lantern mysteriously fell and shattered, igniting in almost an instant."

Her hands started to shake again, and Elphaba pressed them more tightly than before.

"It was terrifying…" she whispered in horror, "terrifying to see how fast the flames could spread. It started at the foot of the stairway, trapping me from escape. The windows on the upper levels were all boarded up, you see, and there was no way out. So I started screaming, hoping that Temen would hear me, as smoke began to fill my lungs.

"There was… a small closet on the main floor; where Temen had hidden himself. The door must have locked on itself somehow, because when he heard me screaming, he started pounding on it with his fists. He yelled my name again and again, either in fear or in pain. The fire was spreading so quickly, you see, and we both appeared to be trapped. I lost my voice after some time, but Temen kept banging on the door, screaming my name like a lunatic."

Glinda took a deep breath, struggling to say what was obviously making her sick. "I don't know if it was the screams, or from smoke billowing up from the trees, but we managed to draw the attention of a passing farmer, who somehow forced his way into the building. He didn't see me at first; I was so high up, and I had no voice to call to him. Maybe I was in shock; it's difficult to say at this point. I just stood there watching, as if I'd lost control of my own body. But he heard Temen, and immediately headed over to the small closet, struggling to see through the smoke. Just as he was about to reach him, a portion of the roof caved in overhead, and the door was sealed by the wreckage. Temen was completely trapped in the closet. There was no way that the farmer could get to him."

Glinda sat there, unmoving, though Elphaba could see the pulsing veins beneath her skin. It was disturbing to see her so calm—so poised, as she took on the appearance of death itself.

"After that," Glinda continued, "and for no apparent reason, the farmer looked up and saw me staring at him from the balcony, huddled on the floor amidst the flames. He ran over and yelled for me to jump, even as the flames were pressing down on me. With whatever strength was left in my body, I jumped from the railing and into his arms, grasping him as tightly as I could. He ran out of the wood mill, holding me firmly, and a moment later, the whole building caved in on itself."

Firelight illuminated the soft contours of Glinda's face, making her appear more haunted and ethereal than she had before. "I watched it burn," she whispered softly as another small tear ran down her cheek. "The building… and Temen with it. His screams died with the last of the flames, and they've haunted me ever since. I don't remember much about what happened after that. I vaguely recall sitting in the farmer's home, wrapped tightly in a blanket and listening to him speaking to his wife in the next room. Most of their conversation was lost on me, but there was something I did manage to hear, and something I never forgot. 'Only one survived,' he'd said to her, '_but the other one burned_.'"

The tears fell more freely down Glinda's face now, leaving damp streaks along her cheeks. "Ever since that day, I was convinced that somehow, by some unearthly means, I was the one responsible for killing him. That by dark powers unknown to me, I willed that roof to collapse, and I willed that farmer to see me— all so I could be the one to make it out of there alive. It's why I've never told anyone what happened that night, and why I was so shocked to hear Ama Clutch whisper those very words to me on her sick bed. She had no way of knowing, Elphie. How could she know it, unless there was some sinister truth to this power I possess?"

She turned to stare back into the fire, and a shadow crossed over her features. "I'm evil, Elphaba," she said emotionlessly. "This darkness in me is real. God or Hell is punishing me for it now, or preparing me for something even worse. It nearly killed me tonight, whatever it is, and I'm convinced that I'll continue to suffer until I'm finally dead."

The silence that followed her confession was almost deafening. Elphaba had scarcely allowed herself to move or breathe as Glinda narrated her horrific tale, but this disturbing revelation of her mistaken self-hatred was even more horrific for Elphaba to hear.

"Glinda," said Elphaba softly, "misplaced guilt and malicious intent are two _very_ different things. I see what it is you're feeling, and I can only imagine what it must have been like to watch someone you love die at such a young age. But _you_ didn't kill that boy, Glinda, and you certainly didn't trap him in that room. Sometimes fate is just cruel. We can't control everything."

"You don't know that," said Glinda, darkly. "You weren't there to see it."

"Well, I know that you didn't want him to _burn_ to death. Why shouldn't that be enough to console you?"

"Because I didn't care!" sobbed Glinda miserably. "Don't you see, Elphie? The sin is my own wretched selfishness! I didn't care if that farmer could only get one of us out alive; I just wanted it to be me! _I didn't want to die._ When the roof gave out… when the farmer saw me above him… there was _joy_ in my heart. Joy and elation, and the thought that I would survive. It wasn't until we had fled the mill that I felt the true horror of what had happened. I _willed_ Temen's death, Elphaba, that's all there is to it. I was sure of it then, and I'm sure of it now. These living nightmares are proof of it."

"You're not looking at this objectively," said Elphaba firmly. "For goodness sake, Glinda, how can you fault a child for expressing an instinctual fear? We are _born _with a will to live and survive; it's as common to us as breathing. You cannot assume responsibility for someone's death simply because your conscience demands that you do so. Terrible things happen, both to good people and bad, and surviving that fire doesn't make you evil, nor does it mean you're gifted with dark powers like in some twisted fairytale. "

"But how can you be so sure?" said Glinda, suddenly leaning forward. "I _hated_ Dr. Dillamond when I arrived here. I wished him nothing but ill-will. Isn't it possible that his murder may have had something to do with that? What if I _willed_ someone to kill him; however sickening the thought may be?"

"If hating someone was all that it took to kill them, dearest, you would have had me murdered long ago," said Elphaba wryly.

"Well, what of Ama Clutch, then? How do you explain this illness of hers?"

"You invented it, Glinda… you didn't assign it to her. You never committed it to her, or her to it."

"And my dreams? My nightmares?" she went on. "How can they physically _hurt_ me? Why must I see Temen night after night, burned and mangled beyond recognition? Why is there always a Woman who waits and watches from a distance; a creature that resembles the festering remains of the Kumbric Witch herself? What if these stories—these myths are _real_? No Elphaba, I mean it! Pretend for a minute that everything I've told you could be true! About the Familiars… about Ama Clutch… about everything! Put all of your reasoning and rationality aside and just _pretend_ that this darkness inside me exists!"

She shook her head and turned away from Elphaba, suddenly unwilling to meet her gaze. "You once asked me what evil was, or what I thought it could be. But what if it's something real—something tangible? What if this evil is me?"

There was something so tragic in the way that she said it; so utterly and crushingly heartbreaking, that all Elphaba could do was kneel before her, silently contemplating this damaged young woman who had stolen her way into her heart. Glinda was so convinced—so blindly and utterly convinced of her own guilt that it was destroying her from the inside out. Even Elphaba, who was guilty of every conceivable transgression a father could think of, had never felt anything close to it.

"The nature of evil is difficult to define," said Elphaba quietly, "but I'd like to think that I've seen enough of it in my lifetime to recognize it for what it is. I've seen bodies of murdered women and children stretched across the badlands of Quadling Country, and I've watched a crowd of angry villagers beat an innocent man to death. I'd call that evil, as most others would, because there is an inherent _wrongness_ I feel when I stare into its countenance for too long. But I _don't_ see that it in you, Glinda, no matter how convinced you are that you're incapable of being good. The fact that you feel this pain so keenly is proof that it isn't—that it _can't _be real."

Glinda sighed, and wiped the tears off her face. "I don't know," she whispered. "There's just so much that I _don't_ know. The dreams continue, our Ama still suffers, and I don't know how to stop any of it."

Elphaba drew in a deep breath and leaned back on her heels, wincing slightly as her sore muscles flexed in her back. The fire was starting to get low again, so she turned and placed another log on top of it. "Well, as far as illnesses go, it _is_ something a bit out of the ordinary. I'm not convinced that you've hexed her just yet, but I suppose it's something we could look into in those sorcery textbooks of yours."

"You're determined to be logical about this," said Glinda, half disapproving, half affectionate.

"It's as much of a curse as my green skin," Elphaba replied with a smirk. "But I do wish you would have told me about this sooner, Glinda. Those idiot friends of yours should have been more forthcoming as well. Weren't Pfannee and Shenshen just as shocked as you were when they discovered what happened to Ama Clutch?"

"I never told anyone else about it," said Glinda, timidly. "Only Madame Morrible."

Elphaba turned to her with an inquisitive stare. "You only mentioned the illness to Morrible?"

Glinda nodded.

Elphaba stared down at her hands, momentarily lost in thought. "That night…" she began, "when Ama Clutch told us that she had seen something going on in Dillamond's lab, she never _did_ tell us what it was. Could she have seen the murder, or possibly how it was done?"

A light suddenly clicked on in Elphaba's head. Possibilities and probabilities were spinning through her mind, forming a picture with all of this newfound knowledge her friend had given her.

"Morrible has been asking about you very specifically," she continued, standing up and beginning to pace the floor. "She asked me about you earlier this afternoon, wanting to know the nature of your symptoms and pressing me when she didn't agree with my answers…" She stopped right in front of the fire and looked down at her companion, who was staring at her in obvious confusion. "Glinda," she said suddenly, "is it possible that there are spells and incantations that could induce visions, or physically harm another person?"

Her friend stared at her. "It would be a bit more advanced than the spells I'm used to, but sure, I don't see why not."

Elphaba quickly knelt down in front of Glinda again, and took her hands in hers. "Then what would you say if I told you that I believed these nightmares that have been haunting you have nothing to do with books or fairytales, but someone who is decidedly _mortal_?"

Glinda looked skeptical. "I'm not sure I understand. Why would anyone wish to harm me, or go through all of this effort to do it?"

"Why indeed?" said Elphaba evenly. "Consider this: Ama Clutch was stricken with madness the morning after Dillamond's body was found. She was unable to reveal anything she had seen that night, nor could any of the nurses explain what had happened to her. Only two people were aware of the false nature of this illness, and if _one_ of those people wanted the information kept secret, the easiest way of doing that would be to ensure the silence of the other; possibly by making her believe she'd gone insane."

Glinda suddenly leaned back. "No, Elphie! You can't possibly think that—"

"Why not?" said Elphaba. "The Headmistress of this university is a vile and conniving monster; a villain straight to her hideous core. You're damn well right I think she's behind this, and I'm convinced that she's placed one or both of you under a spell. Think about it, Glinda... when did these dreams of yours start? Why have these evil forces waited _this long_ to start tormenting you? Do you think it's a coincidence that Ama Clutch wound up a bed-ridden lunatic the morning after the Goat's murder—suffering from an illness that only you and Morrible knew about? Well I don't believe in coincidences, my dear, and I think there's more to this than we're aware of. She saw something that night, Glinda; you know it and I know it. And if anyone had the power to silence her, it would be Madame Morrible."

Glinda was trying to process everything that Elphaba had told her, and shuddered beneath her blanket. "But… what good would that do me, either?" she said nervously. "I mean… if you're right, Elphaba, and she has cursed us, what could I possibly do to stop it?"

"I'm not sure," said Elphaba pensively. "But we'll find that out together."

"No," Glinda stammered. "I won't have you getting involved in this, Elphaba. Morrible could be dangerous— no, I _know_ that she's dangerous. If she finds out that you know the truth, she might—"

"Glinda," said Elphaba, pressing a green hand against her cheek, "we do this together. I don't know what Morrible has planned for you, and I don't know what else you're going to have to face. But I can promise you that I am going to move heaven and hell to try and stop it. You don't have to do this alone anymore."

She reached down and took hold of Glinda's hands again, grateful to find them warm. Her friend looked back at her with an expression troubled between fear, uncertainty, and even guarded hope. Glinda knew she was fighting a losing battle with Elphaba, and it was evident that she was unsure if it was a battle worth fighting in the first place. She looked down at their hands joined together and traced Elphaba's palm with her fingertips, almost as if she'd suddenly realized what had happened to them.

"Your hands…" she whispered.

"It looks worse than it is, I assure you," said Elphaba off-handedly. "You're lucky, though; drenching yourself in water isn't the best way to endear yourself to me. I had half a mind to leave you there on the floor. So the next time you feel like fainting, I suggest you do it on drier ground, otherwise I'll be sending Boq in to rescue you."

Glinda seemed to miss the gentle humor in Elphaba's voice. She continued to lightly trace around the bandages, studying them with a pained intensity that tore at Elphaba's heart. Then, very slowly, she lifted Elphaba's hand in hers and pressed her lips softly against the exposed skin of Elphaba's left palm. She lingered there for what seemed like an eternity, captured in the smallest breadth of only a few passing seconds.

Elphaba had suddenly stopped breathing. The slight pressure of her friend's lips on her skin touched every wakening nerve in her body, causing a dryness in her throat that had nothing to do with a thirst for wine. The pain from her burns briefly softened to a tingling numbness, beginning and ending where Glinda's kiss met her palm. It left her feeling lost. Drained, even.

And strangely _very_ warm.

When Glinda drew back, Elphaba placed her hand on her cheek again, watching attentively as her friend leaned into it.

"We'll survive this," said Elphaba quietly. "We'll find a way, come hell or high water."

She felt Glinda begin to tremble beneath her hand; finally surrendering every fear that had consumed her for the past two months. Elphaba reached for her at the same moment a pair of bruised arms wrapped themselves tightly around her neck. It was impossible to say who had initiated the embrace, and it didn't seem to matter. Elphaba simply held her, willing whatever there was of her own strength into the quivering girl in her arms. How long they sat there clinging to each other was uncertain, as neither seemed anxious to break this new and fragile contact.

Slowly, eventually, Glinda began to calm, and her body ceased its trembling.

"Thank you," she whispered, her lips pressed lightly against Elphaba's neck.

The words made Elphaba shiver, combined with the feel of those lips on her skin again. A sudden and unexpected awareness of her proximity to Glinda's partially-exposed flesh crept over her, making Elphaba's pulse quicken. In all of the panic that had ensued when she'd returned to their rooms that night, she hadn't had much time to contemplate the event of seeing Glinda in a state of undress, much less having to touch her. It wasn't as though Elphaba was embarrassed by it; growing up with a physically dependent younger sister had deprived her of any modesty. But with Glinda, it was a different experience altogether; something Elphaba noted as her hand trailed softly down the smooth, uncovered skin of her roommate's back. Gradually, she became more and more conscious of the form that held her; the arcs and curves pressed so innocently against her own. It brought on a surge of feeling more powerful and dangerous than before, and it made her prodigiously uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, and very unwillingly, she slid out of Glinda's embrace, making sure to direct her gaze elsewhere while her friend rearranged the blanket again.

"It's getting late," said Elphaba thickly, turning towards the fire. "I think we should let this die down for the night, unless you're still cold?"

"I'm fine, thank you," said Glinda shyly. "I think I'm sore more than anything else."

"We should go to bed," said Elphaba, then blushed quickly. "Or… that is… you should really get some rest."

"Oh no," said Glinda, shaking her head. "I can't do that, Elphie. That's impossible."

"Darling, look at me," said Elphaba. "_Look at me_. It's been far too long since you've had a decent night's sleep, and I'm not going to let you stay up half the night, driving yourself crazy."

"But—"

"Do you trust me?" said Elphaba evenly.

Glinda sighed. "Of course I trust you."

"Then trust me when I tell you that I'm not going to let anything happen to you tonight." She held out her hand, waiting for Glinda to take it, and pulled the girl up from the small chair. Elphaba directed her over to her own unmade bed, and sat Glinda down on the sagging mattress.

"I want you to sleep here tonight; see if that makes a difference," she said. Elphaba quickly walked over to her roommate's side of the room, where she opened one of Glinda's drawers to find a warm nightgown. "And if you're still concerned," she continued, pulling the nightgown out and bringing it over, "I'm going to stay up for the rest of the night in this chair, watching you like a hawk. The minute anything comes close to hurting you, I promise to wake you up. Does that sound fair?"

Glinda seemed doubtful, but slowly nodded her head.

"Here," said Elphaba, holding out the nightgown. "You might want to put this on."

Her roommate bit her lip anxiously. "Could you… would you help me with it? My left side is a bit more sore than I thought. I think my ribs may be bruised."

Elphaba stiffened, a bit unprepared for the request, and felt the same dryness in her throat again. "Lift up your arm," she said in a voice that didn't sound anything like her own.

Glinda quietly obeyed, letting the blanket fall down her shoulders as she lifted an arm above her head. Elphaba bunched the material of the nightgown up and over her, gently sliding her arms through the fabric while desperately trying not to stare at _anything_ for too long.

"There," she said quietly. "Now get under the covers before you freeze again. We'll have to see about getting one of the maintenance workers in here tomorrow to mop up the bathroom." She pulled the blankets more neatly over Glinda as her friend stretched out under the covers. Once satisfied that she was comfortable, Elphaba turned to get some towels out of the linen basket, when Glinda suddenly grabbed her arm.

"Sleep with me tonight," she whispered, clutching Elphaba tightly.

Elphaba looked down at her, now more terrified than ever. "You don't trust me to stay awake?"

"No… it's just that…" Glinda took a deep breath. "If the nightmares return… if I wake in the darkness and there are hands on me… I want to know… it would be nice to know that they're yours."

Nice. That was an interesting word for it.

Elphaba sighed, and gently squeezed her hand. "Alright, then."

Glinda smiled in apparent thanks before letting go of her, then pulled Elphaba's blankets more tightly around her frame.

Elphaba headed towards the towels in the linen basket, grabbing everything that was left. She then made her way over to the washroom entrance where she began laying them carefully on the floor. She hoped this would soak up some of the water, though the tub would have to stay full for the night. After spreading out the last of them, she switched off the gaslights and quietly returned to the bedroom. There, Elphaba changed into her nightgown, feeling more self-conscious than she'd ever felt before.

Once she was dressed, Elphaba took a deep, calming breath and climbed into bed next to her companion. The candle was snuffed out with a short wisp of breath, then Elphaba leaned back on her pillow. She'd thought to keep a respectable distance at first, not quite sure what sleeping position would be appropriate. But Glinda obviously had other ideas as she turned and wrapped her arms around her, giving Elphaba what was undoubtedly her fifth heart-attack that night.

"Wake me if they come," she whispered so faintly that Elphaba had to strain to hear her.

"I will," Elphaba whispered back, wrapping her arm more comfortably around Glinda. "Sleep for now. We'll see each other in the morning."

"Goodnight, Elphie," said Glinda softly.

"Goodnight, Glinda," she replied.

After only a short period of time, the soft sounds of Glinda's breathing fell into the steady rhythm of slumber, which Elphaba was extremely grateful for. Noisy laughter and heavy footfalls filled the corridors outside their room, where the chattering residents of Crage Hall had obviously returned home for the evening. But Glinda remained sleeping, pressed so closely against her, and Elphaba gently ran her fingers through Glinda's hair, firmly adamant that she wasn't going to sleep a wink that night.

And in the darkness, with her friend's arms around her, Elphaba had to concede that this was nothing like holding Nessarose.

It was nothing like it at all.

* * *

_A/N: Well, now that the big ol' chapter of doom and exposition is over and done with, permit me to take a time-out to send some holiday wishes and extra love to all of my readers and reviewers who have been following along with this story. I rarely imbibe, so forgive me for the self-indulgence._

_Reviewers: You guys are AWESOME. Thank you so much for taking the time to leave me a little feedback and letting me know how you're digging the crazy thus far. I'm glad you seem to be enjoying this as much as I am, and I hope that future updates will be just as amusing and/or horrifying to you_. =D

_Readers: Glad to have you along for the ride, and I'd love to hear your thoughts! Criticisms are every bit as appreciated as the compliments, as my goal here is to become a better writer_. _So if you have the time, do let me know what you think! I actually do respond to comments, as I love chatting with readers_. =)

_We still have a ways to go with this, but the fun is just beginning. (Did that sound ominous enough?) In the meantime, I hope you all have some happy holidays and enjoy yourselves this weekend!_


	7. The Signs

The Signs

"_Stay out of the Wind until the time is right, or you'll be blown in the wrong direction."_

Wicked, pg. 197

* * *

Over the next several weeks, Elphaba steadily immersed herself in what was ultimately the beginning of her campaign to unearth the sinister details surrounding the murder of Dr. Dillamond. True to her word, every spare moment she possessed was dedicated to uncovering the source of her roommate's sadistic nightmares, and that included a very slap-dash course in the study of sorcery and magick. It was one of the few academic disciplines that had never really interested Elphaba, but she took to the work with all of the intensity of a seasoned undergraduate. There _were_ several centuries' worth of practical theory and supposition to wade through, unfortunately, but such hindrances had never stopped her before. Like everything else in life, it was just another challenge; one that she was perfectly willing to face head on.

At first, her natural impatience with the subject matter made learning extremely difficult. She'd spend hours in the library reading and taking notes from as many as six different texts, constantly muttering curses under her breath and scaring off more than half of the students in the building. After maybe a week of this, she'd given up on trying to memorize several hundred of a thousand different curses and _forced _herself to start from the beginning. It was a strain on her nerves, but she endured it nonetheless. If patience wasn't her virtue, then she'd just have to learn that too.

In some ways, Elphaba found sorcery rather fascinating—for all of its failed practicality to the world at large. It was both concurrence and contradiction; an exploration of the physical and cerebral. Spells were more than just mumbled incantations in false languages; they were threads of metaphysical forces woven together to create intricate patterns in the fabric of the natural world. Bearing that in mind, however, it was impossible to change the characteristics of a spell without directly affecting every other element that bound it together.

And that, in essence, was what made her studies so frustrating. For Madame Morrible to have worked a master spell over Glinda or Ama Clutch, she would've had to combine a number of separate incantations into a single, complex curse—making it next to impossible for Elphaba to discover just _how_ Morrible might have done it.

Thankfully, Elphaba had Glinda to help speed the learning process along; something she was infinitely grateful for. Her roommate would answer her questions as expertly as she could, doing her best to condense several months' worth of sorcery lectures into a few brief study sessions with Elphaba. When they huddled together over a book in the library, or in their rooms at night, a heavily frustrated Elphaba would barrage Glinda for clarification on every confusing subject, and Glinda would calmly explain things to her without being patronizing. It struck an even balance between them, which made studying together a rewarding experience. What Elphaba lacked in patience, Glinda made up for in sensibility.

Truthfully, it both startled and impressed Elphaba to see just how versed her roommate was on the subject, however modest Glinda was about her own proficiency. She understood the complexities—the rudiments of sorcery, even if her practical application was still developing. The girl simply had a natural talent for it, which was most likely why she was so afraid of it. In Glinda's mind, an inherent ability meant that her darkest fears could be true; that somehow, she possessed powers so hideously great and terrible, she had no way of controlling them. It was the reason why Elphaba kept her studies of the darker, more sinister incantations separate from her work with Glinda. Her roommate was still trying to overcome her guilt, and Elphaba was still trying to reassure her.

The rest of the time, what little there was of it, they devoted to each other. Glinda was thoroughly attached to Elphaba, and Elphaba was violently protective of her. Their mutual fears had bonded them in a way that neither time nor social considerations would have been capable of doing. In only a few short months, they had gone from being adversaries to allies to something even greater. Shiz had been a never-ending series of firsts for Elphaba, and Glinda was practically at the heart of every one of them.

They had taken to sharing a bed together since the night of Glinda's attack, which obviously had introduced a new level of intimacy to their friendship. Whatever doubts Elphaba had initially harbored over the arrangement were soon forgotten, however, when she finally had the satisfaction of seeing her friend sleep peacefully through the night. Fragments of dreams would occasionally linger, disturbing Glinda in the soundless hours of the evening, but Elphaba was always there to hold and calm her, and the last lingering hours till dawn would be spent in fearless, dreamless slumber. It was a comforting feeling to wake in the morning and find Glinda still asleep, devoid of the haunted look that had plagued her features for so long. If Elphaba were being honest with herself, there was also something strangely wonderful about falling asleep wrapped around her companion, listening to the soft sounds of Glinda's steady breathing against her neck. For someone who had avoided physical contact for most of her life, it was remarkable how easily she had become accustomed to it. With Glinda lying so trustingly in her arms, Elphaba could believe that she was capable of saving her—regardless of whether or not that was even true.

Unfortunately, Madame Morrible was only a small part of the opposition that Elphaba faced. Her sister hadn't missed the fact that Elphaba was sequestering herself in the library more often than usual, or that Glinda had suddenly become a permanent fixture in her daily routine. For someone like Nessarose, who was normally suspicious about _everything_ by nature, it was only a matter of time before she started questioning Elphaba on "what precisely" was going on. Elphaba did her best to side-step her sister's casual inquiries at first, but Nessa was equally if not more stubborn than she was. So, after first discussing the matter with Glinda, she resolved to inform Nessarose of their current predicament without going into too much detail on the particulars.

They were sitting together in Elphaba's room, as both had recently finished the last of their morning classes. Elphaba had suggested to Nanny earlier that morning that she might like to take a few hours to head into town for a little shopping, leaving her to watch over Nessa in the interim. Nanny squawked and fussed about it for ten minutes or so before finally consenting, and the girls were left to their own devices. Elphaba wasted no time in imparting all of the details of their situation to her sister, though she was very selective about the information she shared. Nessa listened to her narrative without interruption, though she made no effort to hide the look of skepticism on her face.

"You're suggesting that Glinda is being physically harmed by her nightmares?" said Nessa lightly, propped up on the chaise lounge beside the fireplace. She was wearing her new bejeweled shoes that Frex had sent to her, and they complimented her natural beauty exquisitely.

"I'm not sure what they are," Elphaba replied, planting both hands behind her on her bed. "I don't even know if these violent apparitions of hers are psychologically suggested or capable of physical transformation. What I do know is that they tend to prey on her while she's either fully or partially unconscious, though she _has_ encountered them during her waking hours as well."

"And these demonic creatures she sees are—"

"Terrifying," said Elphaba, purposefully being non-specific. "The substance of what nightmares are usually made of, only worse."

Nessa pursed her lips together as if contemplating her words, though she never took her gaze off of Elphaba. "So you believe her?"

"Of course I believe her. What's not to believe? Haven't I explained everything to you perfectly? This is the work of a cunning and proficient hand; willfully designed to confuse and disconcert. There are far too many subtle coincidences for us to ignore, my dear, and as many mitigating circumstances. From the little I've studied of sorcery thus far, it _is_ possible to fashion corporeal beings from non-matter, however complicated it would be to do so. Sadly, there's only so much one can learn from practical sorcery texts found on campus. If I'm really going to learn anything, I imagine I'll have to take another trip to the bookshops in town."

A brief moment of silence passed between the two of them, as it appeared that Nessarose didn't have an immediate response. Elphaba knew that the information was going to be a bit startling at first, but she _was_ a little surprised to see Nessa so reluctant to believe it. Hadn't her sister been preaching for years now that sorcery was only three steps away from devil-worship? Yet there she sat, hesitant and unmoving. It was as if Elphaba had tried to convince her that she was the Unnamed God in disguise.

"You're being serious, aren't you?" said Nessa, still regarding her sister strangely.

"Perfectly," said Elphaba, pushing off of her bed and moving over to the bookcase. "Why would I joke about something so hideous? Our friend has unwittingly become the victim of a sinister plot that is threatening to take her life as well as her sanity, to say nothing of Ama Clutch. I can guarantee you that the Headmistress of this university is behind it all, and that includes the murder of Doctor Dillamond. I may not know what part was hers to play just yet, but I fully intend on discovering what it was."

"By devoting all of your time to studying sorcery?"

"_Know thine enemy_, my dear. We can't stop Morrible if we don't know her game, and we can't treat these symptoms without knowing the disease."

Nessa closed her eyes and sighed deeply, praying for strength or patience—or perhaps a combination of both. "Forgive me, Elphaba, but I can't say that I approve of the way you're handling this situation. For one thing, you're taking this all on yourself without consulting anyone who could offer you more expert advice or experience. Supposing Glinda were telling you the truth, or that your theory is correct—do you honestly think you're capable of stopping a woman as powerful as Madame Morrible with a novice's understanding of sorcery?"

"Is that doubt clouding your voice, my dearest?" said Elphaba, taking a book off of the shelf. "And here I thought you believed in miracles."

"Very funny," said Nessa with a leer. "But inappropriate as usual. Say what you will, Elphaba, but I'm not a fool. There's no perfect formula or magical equation to all of this slight of hand—this devil's work. Even if you _did_ know how Morrible managed to do it, you lack the power or the training to perform any kind of a counter-spell yourself. Choosing to fight evil with evil is one thing, but you're not playing a fair game. Going up against the Headmistress like this is foolhardy; it would be like a lamb to the slaughter."

"You're forgetting who you're talking to," said Elphaba coolly. "I haven't come this far in life by cowering in the face of opposition. You're acting as if I'm blindly walking head-first into battle without knowing or respecting the strength of my opponent, and that's where you're wrong. Morrible has no reason to fear me at all, and I am extraordinarily terrified of what she is capable of. The advantage, therefore, is mine. While I am anticipating her every move, she will _constantly _underestimate me."

Elphaba picked her satchel up off the floor and began stuffing it with books from her bookshelf, vaguely aware that Nessa was still scrutinizing her. She didn't think the conversation was going very well, but there was an unexpected impression of mistrust from Nessarose that made Elphaba question just how wise she'd been in telling her sister anything in the first place.

"May I remind you," said Nessa slowly, "that you're basing your conjectures on a raving madwoman in a hospital bed and a young girl prone to hysterics?"

"Careful, Nessarose," Elphaba replied. "You're making insinuations about my roommate that I don't especially care for. I've already told you that I adamantly believed her, so that should be enough to satisfy whatever doubts you're harboring. And if you don't believe me, then believe her. There are enough bruises on her body to prove it."

Neither girl spoke for several minutes while Elphaba continued packing her bag and Nessa continued to watch her. Once finished with her books, Elphaba briefly made note of the time, which was already half-past twelve. She was going to be late meeting Glinda.

"You're not telling me everything," said Nessa quietly, finally breaking the silence.

"I'm not telling you everything," Elphaba responded, tightening the straps on her satchel. "And my reasons are two-fold. One, the less you know, the less you'll be held accountable for should Morrible discover our plans, and two, Glinda asked for my discretion on certain matters, and I promised her that I wouldn't say a word about them to anyone."

"I didn't realize that I was _anyone_," said Nessa sullenly.

"Oh please don't be cross, Nessarose. Don't ruin my fear of death and dismemberment with resentment, now, will you?"

The joke was not taken well. Her sister didn't appreciate having her words thrown back in her face like that, and she favored Elphaba was her angriest, most unintentionally stunning look of pure venom. "Have you made it your _goal_ in life to upset and infuriate me as much as humanly possible?"

"I believe it's listed somewhere under frantically working to stop a vile murderess from killing again while surviving university long enough to tour the Northern Bears. Really, dearest, I've told you all I can. The rest you'll just have to take on faith, which I know you're _very_ good at."

Nessa was about to respond when Nanny came barging into the room, carrying several parcels in her arms as well as the remains of a half-eaten basket of nectarines.

"Sakes alive!" she cried while dropping all of her parcels onto Glinda's bed. "Do you know how much this mess cost me? Those thieving scoundrels were charging triple the cost of camel yarn! Triple! Give me the penny stalls back in Quadling Country, because I've had it up to here with all of these up-market Gillikenese sewing shops!"

"Oh wonderful, you're back," said Elphaba as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "Forgive me for not staying to ogle your purchases, Nanny, but I have to dash. Nessa hasn't had any lunch yet, so you may want to take her to the dining hall when you get this all unpacked."

"And just where are _you_ going?" said Nessa crossly. "I thought you were supposed to be joining us?"

"Not today, I can't," she said in apology. "I'm studying with Glinda again this afternoon, so I'll most likely catch you later tonight; possibly after dinner."

"Oh bless it, have you both been quarrelling again?" said Nanny disapprovingly. "What is it this time? A hair brooch? Those sparkly shoes of Nessie's?"

"Nothing at all, Nanny," said Elphaba flatly. "Or nothing that a little soup won't fix. Do lock the door on your way out, and try not to get any of those nectarines on Glinda's bed."

Elphaba hurried out of the door and into the hall without further comment, side-stepping a few passing Munchkin girls that were headed in the opposite direction. If she hadn't left in such a rush, she might have paid more consideration to Nessa's look of calculating suspicion. Particularly when her sister finally noticed that only one of their beds appeared to have been slept in.

* * *

Glinda was standing in a small alcove near the main student lounge, located on the western side of the Crage Hall building. It was a quiet Thursday afternoon with minimal activity going on, but she still kept to the shadows and tried to keep as far out of sight as possible. The occasional student would pass through the doors, sometimes laughing with a group of friends or hurrying to get to their next class. Luckily for Glinda, the hallway was mostly deserted, and she was allowed to keep to herself.

She glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was nearly half-past twelve.

Elphaba was already late.

Glinda worried her thumbnail between her teeth and tried to convince herself that the clock was probably just five or ten minutes fast. The knitted grey scarf she'd worn that day was beginning to irritate her throat; however loosely she'd tied it. There were still visible traces of scars along her neck, even though the wounds themselves had healed over a week ago. She credited it to Elphaba's careful and consistent application of her healing ointments, as well as several nights of decent rest. Hiding the scars was still a bit of a problem, unfortunately, but Glinda had disturbingly become rather adept at it. She began to fidget with the material in her increasing anxiousness, and risked a glance up at the clock again.

Nanny was probably just late getting back from town. Surely that was the cause for Elphaba's tardiness. There was no reason for Glinda to worry— no reason at all. Sadly, there was a wealth of difference between telling herself that and actually _believing_ it.

Elphaba had arranged an afternoon with her sister to inform Nessarose of the present dangers they were facing—something that Glinda was still a little uncertain about. When Elphaba had broached the subject with her the night before in their washroom (for Glinda was incapable of bathing alone anymore), she was hesitant to even consider it. However much she trusted Nessarose to keep her silence, she still feared what the girl would think of her, given that Elphaba's sister had such clearly defined opinions on goodness and evil. No matter what Elphaba said to her, Glinda still wasn't wholly convinced that she was blameless in all of this, or that her earlier fears were without merit. After so many years spent trying to suppress her guilt, she could hardly expect to wake up one morning and be free of it.

She wasn't even sure that she wanted to be.

A door opened and closed beside her, where another student had passed through. Glinda let out a nervous sigh and checked the time once more, mentally berating herself as she did so. Giving in to her silly fears like this was useless. She trusted Elphaba, she _knew_ that she did, so what else really mattered?

"_Glinda…"_

The faint whisper of her name startled Glinda from her thoughts. She quickly turned and looked behind her, expecting to find her roommate standing there. It was something of a shock, then, to find the hallway still deserted and the space beside her unoccupied. Glinda frowned slightly as she glanced in the opposite direction, wondering if she'd mistaken where it had come from. The name was spoken in a low and breathy tone, but the voice was unmistakably Elphaba's.

"Elphie?" Glinda called.

Only silence greeted her. She stepped cautiously out of the alcove, listening intently in case she'd misheard.

"_Glinda…"_

There. The voice was coming from around the corner. Glinda slowly began walking towards it, and the sound of her footsteps echoed loudly across the narrow corridor. She was confused as to why she was supposed to be chasing her roommate around the building, but followed Elphaba regardless. Her companion was fond of stealth and secrecy, but this was getting ridiculous.

"_Glinda…"_ whispered the voice again, around a different corner.

"Elphaba Thropp, I am not in the mood for this," Glinda huffed as she hastened to follow her companion's lead into the adjoining hallway. But when she rounded the second corner, Glinda stopped dead in her tracks. She'd finally reached a dead end, and Elphaba was nowhere to be found.

"Elphie?" she called to her roommate again, turning in every direction. How odd. She was certain that this was where the voice had come from. Where on earth was her roommate?

Glinda turned to head back into the previous corridor, when she noticed a small, inconsequential door on one side of the hallway. It was possibly a faculty entrance that led to other parts of the building, or perhaps some sort of janitorial closet. She stepped uncertainly towards the entrance, wondering what had possessed her roommate to lead her here, of all places. She reached for the doorknob with mild uncertainty, and suddenly felt a chill run up her spine.

"_Here…"_

Glinda hesitated. She studied the door intently for a moment, not quite sure if she trusted what she was hearing. _No_… This wasn't some dead woman haunting her in the middle of the night, nor was it Temen's innocent laugh that was typically a prelude to violence. Glinda was standing in the hallway in full custody of her senses, listening to a voice that she knew almost as well as her own. Cautiously, she turned the handle and slowly opened the door. A cold, unlit passage was waiting for her.

"Elphie?" she said in a small voice. "Are you here?"

"_Here…" _came the voice again, further into the darkness.

Glinda took a deep breath and placed a hand to her breast. There was a gas-jet fixed to the wall beside her, and she lit it with trembling fingers. The light illuminated a short, wooden staircase that led down into what appeared to be an old storage cellar. It couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen feet deep, with very little space allotted between floor and ceiling. Glinda slowly descended the stairs, and was careful to keep her skirts above the dirt. There was a bitter kind of smell that lingered in the air, possibly emanating from the crates and boxes stacked on both sides of the room. It looked as though they hadn't been touched in years, as evidenced by the thick layer of dust coating each of them. No marks or labels were visible on anything, making it impossible to distinguish their purpose. She guessed this was just another forgotten storeroom, humming under the sounds of the nearby furnaces.

"Elphaba?" she called a final time.

Faint whispers beckoned her forward, calling her further in. The space was narrow, and a little too claustrophobic for Glinda, though she willingly continued to move forward. A warning sounded in the back of her mind, but something compelled her to ignore it. She knew that she should have been afraid. She knew that there was something sinister about all of this. Even if it was Elphaba's voice that was calling to her, it was evident that Glinda was the only living creature in this room. But the quiet sounds of inviting reassurance had placed her in a peculiar trance, summoning her further and further into the darkness.

Finally, she found herself at the end of the cellar, staring up at the rough stone wall that callously closed her in. The voice had disappeared somewhere behind it—or beyond it; swallowed up under chilled, blue stone. Her hands traveled along the wall in careful study, as if Glinda were blindly committing its form to memory. The hum of the furnaces in the nearby room caused the stones to vibrate beneath her hand, matching the rhythm of her blood pulsing just beneath her fingertips. It was as if the room was a living thing, and she had trapped herself in its womb; caressing the cold and delicate membrane with a curiously morbid fascination.

And then there was the voice, speaking to her—waiting for her— somewhere on the other side of the wall.

"_The faces you see_…"

"_Memories and matter…"_

"_But before you burn…"_

"_Rise to the tower…" _

"_Can you hear me?"_

"_Buried beneath flame…"_

"_It doesn't hurt me…"_

"_It is only death."_

Glinda started to shiver. This was wrong. All of this was wrong. What was she doing here? Why had she come alone? Elphaba. She had come to find Elphaba. And… something more.

"_Pain_..."

"_The Forsaken…"_

"_A Still Beating Heart…"_

"_Truth…" _it whispered.

"I'm here to find it," she replied.

The sound of her own voice snapped her out of the trance and brought Glinda crashing back to her senses. She pulled her hands away from the wall, as if it were on fire, and quickly began backing away while never letting it out of her sight.

Her heel finally struck against the staircase, marking the end of her path. Glinda turned and fled up the stairs, forgetting to extinguish the gas-light on her way out.

She ran up and into the hallway, quickly looking over her shoulder as if she'd expected the voice to follow. But when Glinda rounded the first corner, she failed to see the taller figure heading towards her until they eventually collided.

Glinda stumbled back against the wall, reaching out to prevent herself from losing her balance completely. When she looked up, her racing heart froze beneath her breast at the sight of Madame Morrible towering over her like a huge, predatory beast.

"Oh Madame," Glinda stammered, her back pressed against the wall behind her. "Forgive me, forgive me… I didn't see you there—"

"Are we lost, Miss Glinda?" said Morrible neatly, arching a thinly painted eyebrow in question.

"No… I mean yes... Yes! I was just… looking for my roommate, and I've gotten myself lost."

Madame Morrible slightly tilted her head, letting a dreadful amount of silence pass between them. "Seems a bit far out of the way of the common rooms," she said in her smooth, oiled voice. "_Much_ further, in fact."

"We were supposed to meet near the lounge," said Glinda pathetically. Her pulse was racing, but she did everything in her power to appear calm

"Were you indeed?" Morrible grinned with a mouthful of yellow teeth. She took a menacing step forward, closing the space between them. "That's a very… pretty… excuse, Miss Glinda. Very pretty indeed. But I suspect— and you'll forgive me for saying this— that I _sincerely_ doubt that you're telling me the truth. In fact, I think that you're lying…"

Glinda's chest was heaving now, but she kept her chin pointed high. "Do you?" she whispered, refusing to break eye-contact.

"Oh! Muriel!" called a voice nearby, and both women turned to see Miss Greyling heading down the hall. "Thank goodness you're here. I was just about to head over to the Main Hall. And Miss Glinda! How lovely to see you again. I hope I'm not interrupting you both?"

A silent prayer of thanks to every deity she could think of went out in Glinda's heart as Miss Greyling swiftly approached them. Madame Morrible glared at her like a hawk who had just been denied its dinner, but Glinda had never been so thrilled to see her sorcery professor in her life. The woman's timing was simply impeccable.

"Celvia," said Morrible with a sneer. "What little crisis are you in now?"

Miss Greyling was completely oblivious to Morrible's anger, and placed a hand on her arm. "I've recently spoken with Professor Hain, and…oh! Would you excuse us for a moment, Glinda dear? This is boring faculty business, and probably best left to ourselves."

"Of course," said Glinda, a bit too quickly. "Thank you, Madame Morrible… Miss Greyling. Good afternoon to you both."

She tried not to run as she hurried back to the main lounge area, never once stopping to look behind her. Once she turned into the last hallway, she immediately spotted Elphaba pacing near the alcove, and quickly dashed over to meet her.

"There you are!" cried Elphaba in a fit. "I was beginning to think that you'd left me for the dining hall. What—"

"Have you been here long?" said Glinda frantically, grasping Elphaba's arm. "Were you waiting for me elsewhere?"

Elphaba stared at her friend with a puzzled expression. "I've only been here for a few minutes. Nanny was late getting back. Good gracious, Glinda, you're as white as a sheet! What's happened to you?"

"I _heard_ you," said Glinda quickly, and she pressed Elphaba further into the alcove. "I heard a voice calling my name that sounded exactly like you. It led me down this hallway and into an old storage room, somewhere near the furnaces. I searched for you there, but no one was in the room. That's when I started to worry that something had lured me there for a sinister purpose."

"You heard my voice?" said Elphaba, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes, it was you… but that wasn't the worst of it," said Glinda with a shudder. "The minute I fled back out into the hallway, I ran head-first into Madame Morrible, and Elphie… I swear that she—"

"_Morrible_?" Elphaba hissed, grasping Glinda's arms. "She was waiting there for you?"

"I've only just escaped her," said Glinda, trembling. "I don't know _what _she was doing there. But if Miss Greyling hadn't interrupted us…"

"Wait," said Elphaba sharply, looking just to her left where a small group of students were gathering. She motioned for Glinda to be silent and took her hand, guiding her up a nearby staircase to one of the upper-level floors. Upon reaching a quieter hallway, Elphaba began searching for an empty room and found one adjacent to the lavatories. She opened the door and pulled Glinda inside, where midday sunlight was streaming in through the windows. She closed the door behind her and drew Glinda as far away from it as possible, lest anyone had followed them there and thought to eavesdrop from the hall.

"Now," she said, taking Glinda's hands again, "tell me everything from the beginning. You're positive it was _my_ voice that you heard in the room?"

"Very distinctly," said Glinda. "It's why I never questioned it. I assumed you wanted to meet with me in a more private location, possibly because you had some great secret to impart. When I found myself in the cellar and discovered you weren't there, it was clear that something was wrong, and that I had been led there under false pretense. But when Morrible showed up…" Glinda shook her head.

"What was her demeanor? Did she seem pleased to find you there?"

"She seemed—" Glinda paused, trying to remember specific details of the encounter that'd she'd forgotten in all of her terror. "She seemed mistrusting of me somehow. Not exactly shocked to find me there, but… suspicious of the reasons I gave her. I told her that I'd been looking for you, and she didn't believe a word of it. She expected something more from me; a confession, I suppose. I was literally trapped between her and the wall. It was absolutely terrifying."

Elphaba's eyes narrowed. "Did she touch you?"

Glinda was a little startled by the question. "I think she meant to intimidate me, but no, I was never physically harmed."

"Right," said Elphaba determinedly. "That's it. You are hereby forbidden from going _anywhere_ inside or outside of this building without informing me of your whereabouts or requesting my permission to do so. All areas around Crage Hall, and consequently every other inch of this campus, are strictly off-limits unless you are accompanied by me or someone that I approve of."

"But—"

"No. You are forbidden to talk to anyone without telling me first. You are forbidden to _see_ anyone without telling me first. Your silly little trips to the dress shops in town will be put on hold until _I_ deem it's safe enough to travel there, and you will only be allowed to go if you are accompanied by at least three or four different escorts. And so help me, Glinda, if you even _think_ of disobeying me, I will personally drag you to the campus stables and tie you up with the cows before—what?"

Glinda was desperately trying to suppress a grin, however miserably she was failing. "Tibbett was right," she said with a smirk. "You _are_ a bit of a romantic, aren't you?"

The comment appeared to catch Elphaba off guard, which pleased Glinda immensely. Her roommate raised an eyebrow to convey her usual annoyance, even if she couldn't stop the barest hint of a smile from touching the corner of her lips.

"I'm a little bit of everything," said Elphaba frankly. "Especially when it comes to you."

It was Glinda's turn to be taken aback, and unlike Elphaba, her blush was probably more apparent. She studied her friend's face with quiet and overwhelming affection, marveling at the way the sunlight played so stunningly over her green skin. Glinda lowered her eyes to their hands clasped together, suddenly too shy to meet Elphaba's gaze.

The burns on Elphaba's palms had formed into raised scars, crisscrossing along her hands and up a few of her fingers. It was doubtful that they would ever heal completely; something Glinda considered with a heavy pang of guilt. But in a way, the scars meant everything to her, as they were physical proof of Elphaba's unwavering devotion. If ever she doubted her roommate's sincerity, or questioned how far she was willing to carry on with this madness, all Glinda needed to do was feel the scars in these slim green hands and remember that Elphaba had risked everything to save her. Even a room full of water.

She slid her arms around Elphaba and held her in a firm embrace; resting her head against a bony shoulder and drinking in everything that was her roommate. Elphaba held her just as tightly, a sensation that Glinda could never get enough of. Here, with her friend's arms around her and their hearts beating in unison, Glinda could believe anything. She could hope that there were better days ahead of them. She could believe that Elphaba would find a way to stop these horrors that were threatening them both.

"Will you always be there to save me, Elphaba?" she whispered into her sleeve.

"Always," Elphaba replied, and Glinda could believe it, even if there had been something like doubt lingering at the back of Elphaba's voice.


	8. Biological Suggestion

Biological Suggestion

"_The real thing about evil," said the Witch at the doorway, " isn't any of what you said._

_You figure out one side of it—the human side, say—and the eternal side goes into shadow. (…) It is the nature of evil to be secret."_

Wicked, pg. 371-372

* * *

Autumn's brisk and deepening chill was shifting into the quiet prelude of winter. High mists and steady rain blanketed the low valleys of Gillikin near the Shiz campus grounds, where muted greys had quickly replaced the blue skies overhead. It cast a serious, somber mood over the buildings and their inhabitants, preparing them for the long frigid months ahead.

The majority of the students had buried themselves in schoolwork, either in restless anticipation for their upcoming exams or purely out of boredom. It was a convincing (if not overly impressive) justification for Elphaba's own increased reclusiveness, which she was finding harder and harder to manage. The difficulties weren't strictly related to her relationship with Nessarose, though she was fully aware of her sister's displeasure for being so cruelly ignored. In truth, the greater injury involved the friends she had promptly neglected since the event of Glinda's attack. It wasn't as though she'd much choice in the matter, but that didn't make her own self-imposed seclusion any easier. She loved the fools, no matter how frequently they annoyed her, and it was difficult not to feel a slight twinge of guilt for failing to be more forthcoming with them.

But too much was presently at stake, as it always was, and she simply didn't have time to evade their questions or come up with clever excuses as to why she was ignoring them. She chose, instead, to hide herself in her research, and let everything else fall as it may.

Her relationship with Boq was undoubtedly her greatest regret, as little had been resolved between them since the heated argument they'd shared that night at Fellian Hall over a month ago. The absence of his company pained her more keenly than she cared to admit, but mending ties with the boy right now required too much effort. If she told him the truth, Boq would insist on getting involved, and Boq's involvement would only make things worse. So in the end, she was forced to ignore him, and their friendship festered like a hideous, open wound.

All of this could have been regarded as a necessary evil, however, if Elphaba had found even the smallest measure of success in her efforts to discern Morrible's twisted strategy. But for all she had learned in an impressively short period of time, her sorcery studies had taken her absolutely nowhere. Logical and illogical probabilities were starting to collide with one another, creating more problems than solutions for her to vex over. She was traveling in a continuous circle between supposition and improbability, and it taxed every last ounce of patience she possessed. No matter how close she came to unearthing the nature of the curse that plagued her roommate, a new and inconsistent effect would crush her theories and send her stumbling back to the beginning.

She blamed herself, as she always did, convinced that she lacked the ability to understand the endless complexities of sorcery. Once she learned to ignore her own niggling self-doubts, however, she opted to blame her failures on the insufficient material she was forced to work with. The school didn't provide much of anything that dealt with the darker aspects of the subject, and her limited funds made it impossible to acquire anything of interest in town. Eventually, she resolved on asking Tibbett and Crope to help her secure access to the Three Queens Library and their extensive collection of restricted, controversial literature.

The two were openly game for the task, and graciously agreed to provide her with the spare set of keys they'd procured during their earlier summer employment. They met with Elphaba on a late Friday afternoon, just outside of their biology room fifteen minutes prior to class. Crope slipped her the keys with exaggerated stealth and secrecy while retrieving them from the inner-pocket of his coat.

"We'll need them back by early tomorrow, or the Rhino will have our hides," he said. "He's caught us with the keys before, so we have to exercise a bit more caution whenever we make use of them."

"And if you ask us what we're using them for, we shan't tell you a thing," said Tibbett, grinning roguishly.

"The square ones provide access to the doors on the ground level, and the round keys will get you into the restricted areas. Don't get too excited though— restricted doesn't really mean _interesting._ Tibbett and I spent a few dozen hours in there over the summer, hoping to unearth a variety of naughty reading material. All we found were antiquated manuscripts and a few controversial texts from those boring as hell Barrisian scholars."

"Careful, old boy," his companion replied as they casually made their way into the classroom. "That might be precisely what turns her on."

"You know me so well," remarked Elphaba dryly, deciding to take the seat behind them. Unhappily, her desk was situated next to Boq, and Avaric was just to the right of him. With Fiyero occupying the seat just behind her, it appeared that she was trapped on all sides. Elphaba sighed deeply and slid into her chair, wishing the day was already over.

"Elphie," said Boq with cold familiarity. "How gracious of you to favor us with your presence. Have we've suddenly become more fascinating than the window at the back of the room, or are you merely fawning over Crope and Tibbett for handing the library keys over to you?"

"You're a treasure Boq," said Elphaba with an unconvincing grin. "Why listen to sheep screwing each other in the pasture when I can hear you bleat and moan instead?"

"Oh, she's on one today, lads," Avaric cackled, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair. "Let's see if we can keep her riled up in time for Nikidik. Perhaps he's got another Animal to torture for us today."

"Master Fiyero is _not_ an Animal!" said Crope in mock-offense.

"At least not the kind we'd enjoy torturing," Tibbett replied with a wink.

Elphaba untied the scarf around her neck, choosing to ignore the taunt. "I've already reached my tolerance level for idiocy today, Avaric; so you can save your asinine flattery for the whores you entertain on the weekends."

"Master Fiyero is _not_ a whore!" said Crope more fervently than before.

"Well," said Boq irritably, "are you in the mood to tell us what in the hell you need the keys to the library for, or does that fall in the general category of things you refuse to discuss with me anymore? Consider yourself lucky that the boys were willing to give them to you in the first place. I'm not sure you deserve them."

"Do you know what I'm in the mood for, Boq? I'm in the mood to toss a meddling Munchkin imbecile out of the window. My affairs have never been any of your business, as I doubt they ever will be. Quit nagging me like a sagging, crotchety spinster. It's not a flattering look on you."

Boq chose to ignore her, and rounded on Crope and Tibbett. "You've been far too generous with her, you two, and I don't approve at all. Did you forget what she said to us all those months ago? How she made it perfectly clear that she _doesn't_ want our help? Why not let her find her own damn way through the library instead of putting ourselve_s_ at risk! Let Elphaba be the noble martyr she enjoys pretending she is."

"My, but you're a catty thing," said Crope with arch approval. "Look at him, Elphie; you've wounded the boy. Now we'll _never_ persuade you to kiss and make up."

"He does have a point though," said Tibbett thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his finger. "You've been terribly reticent with us, Miss Elphaba, and we're still a little sore about it. I for one would have dismissed your request entirely if I hadn't suspected an ulterior motive to all of this 'studying' business." He caught Crope's eye with a clever wink, and the pair of them grinned at each other like fiends.

"Something to do with a very lovely, _very _disturbed young Gillikin, perhaps?" said Crope in a singsong manner.

Elphaba could only glare at them with a bored, disinterested look. "I haven't the slightest idea what either of you are talking about, unless this is a prelude to another joke about Avaric's manhood. And if that be the case, please feel free to continue."

"Oh, lay off it you cunning fiend," said Crope, leaning over her desk. "We've seen you squirreled away with our beloved Miss Glinda for weeks now, and we're _dying _to hear what's been going on between you two."

"Those long walks together in the fields… the meaningful gazes exchanged behind notebooks…" Tibbett wistfully sighed.

"You're keeping her all to yourself, dear girl. One would think you weren't interested in sharing."

"Don't act so surprised," said Boq, folding his arms across his chest. "Elphie gets off on hording secrets and keeping us all in the dark."

"Boq," she said patiently, "as much as I adore you, you really need to shut the hell up. Get over your wounded pride about Dillamond and do something constructive; preferably something that won't make me want to kick you repeatedly in the groin."

"It would be the most action his groin has seen all year," Avaric grinned.

"Oh go to hell, Avaric," said Boq heatedly. "And don't you _dare_ lecture me on wounded pride, Elphaba; this has gone far beyond Dillamond's research. Do you think that I'm immune to the callous way you've treated me after everything that's happened? You've _accused_ me… you've ignored me… you've shown me nothing but contempt. Now you have the audacity to come in here and ask us for favors without even bothering to answer our questions? It's pathetic, Elphaba. You're absolutely pathetic."

"I'm sorry, did you want an apology?" she sarcastically replied. "Normally I'm happy to admit fault where fault is present, but I'm afraid it's impossible for me to give a damn when you sit there whining at me like some spoiled, petulant toddler."

"I think he's more chuffed about your roomie than anything," said Crope, managing to cut in. "After all, Miss Elphie, it's not fair of you to suggest she's been roughed up by a lover without letting us in on the details."

"Especially when your giant carpe of a Headmistress knows more of the particulars than we do," Tibbett added. "Acute schizophrenia and self-destructive tendencies? Good Lurline, it's like a page straight out of a Kimlin opera."

Elphaba's entire body went rigid. She grasped the edges of her desk so tightly, the knuckles on her hands turned white. "_What!"_ she howled, drawing the attention of everyone else around them. "What did you just say!"

"Oh," said Crope, quickly leaning back. "I don't think she knew about that, old boy."

"That would explain the murderous look," said Tibbett, retreating as well.

The blood in Elphaba's veins was searing. She reached over and grabbed Boq by the front of his shirt collar, jerking him towards her with the strength of a wild panther. "You _told_ them!" she seethed with uncontrollable fury. "Even Madame Morrible!"

"Of course I told them!" he snarled at her while attempting to shove her hand off. "What did you _think_ I was going to do? Let you skulk off into the night with her and leave me fearing the worst? You said that Glinda was hurt, Elphaba, and _we_ knew nothing about it. So I was forced to make my own inquiries, and come to my own conclusions."

"By telling the whole fucking school that something was wrong with her?" she growled.

Crope gently placed his hand on top of Elphaba's arm. "Please don't be too severe with him, Elphie; you haven't heard the full story. Boq questioned us all some weeks ago about Glinda after you'd confronted him at the reading. We knew nothing more than you did, of course, and neither did Milla, Pfannee, or Shenshen. And while I would never presume to speak on the ladies behalf, _we_ never told another living soul about it. Nor did we intend to."

"Morrible summoned us into her office about a week ago," Tibbett carefully explained, "though none of us had any idea what the old fiend wanted. She asked us a little about you, actually, then spent the rest of the hour inquiring after Glinda. 'How has she been doing?...' 'Where does she spend most of her time?'..."

"It seemed a little ridiculous," Crope continued, "but then she started asking _serious_ questions—questions about her health and mental condition. From what I gathered, a few of her professors have voiced their concerns about her to the Headmistress, fearing that Glinda had gone off the deep end. So… Boq felt like it was a good opportunity to share your discoveries about the bruises, hoping it might help to diagnose the problem."

"The _problem_?" she stammered with frightening malevolence, tightening her grip on Boq's collar.

"That Glinda's gone mad," said Boq decisively. "Or as close to madness as they come."

"Forgive us, Elphaba," said Tibbett sincerely. "We honestly thought Boq had told you."

But Elphaba was in no mood to hear apologies or feeble explanations. The shock she felt at Boq's betrayal was only surpassed by her mounting rage, and it took every last ounce of willpower to keep her from strangling the boy with both of her trembling hands.

"You sad, spiteful little fool," she hissed, shoving him back in his seat. "Do you _realize_ what you've _done_?"

"Perfectly…" he replied while gasping for air and straightening the collar of his shirt. "I'm doing what you should have done in the beginning, Elphaba; I'm getting her some help. I don't know why you've waited this long to do something about it, or more importantly, why you've been hiding her, but it can't go on any longer. We've discussed this all amongst ourselves, and we're convinced that Glinda needs medical attention—especially if she's been hurting herself."

"Really," she laughed as she stared at her friends with open, unguarded disgust. "You all got together like a bunch of gossiping housewives and just _decided_ that Glinda's insane?"

"Not all of us," said Fiyero quietly, finally cutting in.

"We had our own theories," said Crope in earnest, "though your Headmistress added an interesting element to the mix. Tibbett thinks that Morrible is trying to rape her. I, on the other hand, liked _you_ for the culprit. The sensible conclusion was that Glinda was getting man-handled during your nightly love-making sessions."

"Wasn't that Fiyero's suggestion?" Tibbett asked.

"No, that was Avaric's," Fiyero curtly replied.

"I don't see what any of you are arguing about," said Avaric nonchalantly. "Gorgeous women are _always_ insane; there's nothing mysterious about it. Think of it as nature's way of balancing the universe out. The lovelier they are, the barmier they get. It's all very reasonable."

"What a brilliant assessment," said Elphaba derisively. "Perhaps we've also unearthed the reason why you're such an insufferable jackass."

"Why Elphie," he grinned, leaning over his desk. "Does that mean you think I'm _handsome_?"

"You know that I'm right," said Boq, cutting in, and his gaze never left her. "Glinda is sick, and she needs professional help. It's high time we did something about it."

The group suddenly became silent. It was a moment of calm and frightening anticipation, as all parties were undoubtedly convinced that Elphaba was going to kill him. When her temper got the best of her, she was certainly menacing enough, but in these stretching moments of wordless fury, something of the razor-toothed demon still lurked within her.

Then, she was downright terrifying.

"Tell me, Boq," she whispered dangerously. "Is Glinda insane because she threw you to the ground, or is it because she let you kiss her?"

Avaric couldn't hold back his laughter. Crope and Tibbett had to cover their mouths to hide their obvious grins. Boq, however, continued to glare at her, and his skin had turned a deep shade of scarlet.

"Just like when we were children, isn't it?" he said with a quiet, condemning voice. "The mean little green girl, lying bruised in the mud. Unwilling to take the hand I offered her, or allow me to help her up."

It was all he needed to say to her.

The demon finally emerged.

She slid her chair back and quickly stood up, towering over the rest of them like a fearsome bird of prey.

"To hell with you," she hissed violently. "To hell with _all_ of you! You can rot in the ground and bury your resentment with you, Boq, because I'm done with you... _Finished_. How I ever believed you were more than just a petty, thick-headed Munchkin is beyond me, but as of this moment, I no longer care. Stay out of my way and out of my life, and I'll happily return you the favor. And if you even _think_ about going anywhere_ near_ Glinda, or suggesting to anyone that she needs 'medical help,' I will spend every last moment of my natural life making yours a living hell. You have my word on that."

She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the room, nearly knocking over Dr. Nikidik as they passed one another. He fussed and snorted in disapproval, but had no interest in calling or inquiring after her.

Her friends sat silently watching her leave; wounded, confused, and completely in awe of the tempest that was Elphaba Thropp.

Crope rested his chin in his hand, gazing at the others with a hopeless, lop-sided grin.

"Love," he said casually. "Isn't it splendid?"

* * *

The indoor foyer to the arts building was bristling with activity. Students were still coming and going from their mid-afternoon lectures, and the colder weather had prompted most to do their loitering indoors.

Per Elphaba's request, Glinda had waited for Nanny and Nessarose in the main lobby, where both were prompt to greet her after Nessa's history class. Her time was pretty evenly divided between the two Thropp sisters, where one or the other could play escort and see to her relative safety. Glinda _did _suspect that Elphaba was probably just as concerned about having someone there to keep her company as she was about an attack, regardless of how paranoid her roommate was about the latter. No doubt Elphaba was conscious of the spiteful comments and contemptuous looks that followed Glinda wherever she went, or that the worst of these had come from the girls who once claimed a kinship with her.

Little did Elphaba realize that Glinda no longer cared.

With so much weighing in the balance of their lives, the irrelevant frills of fashion and favor had ceased to mean anything at all. If this experience had taught her nothing else, it was that the truly important things in life bore little resemblance to wealth or society's admiration. They were things of substance. Loyalty and compassion.

They also tended to be green.

Following their exchange of pleasantries, Glinda, Nanny, and Nessarose began walking towards the sitting area in the main vestibule, with Glinda carrying Nessa's books in her arms. Nessa was anxiously engaged in discussing the usual scandal attached to her art history lectures, and Glinda did her best to remain attentive.

"What a pity that the Merthic period saw the decline of religious paintings in favor of filth and debauchery," Nessa remarked with disdain. "They traded sanctity for sin; divinity for damnation. What is there worth capturing in the natural, corruptible man?"

Glinda studied the ground as they walked, taking her friend's words in stride. "I suppose the paintings could be religious in a sense, if you interpret them as the other half of a mortal, spiritual equation. Sin reinforces the necessity of repentance, or strengthens the need for virtue. I can't look at a crack in the foundation of a building without wanting someone to repair it. Perhaps the paintings were meant to do the same; to appeal to our spiritual selves by illustrating our frailties."

Nessa snorted with mild derision. She sounded identical to Elphaba.

"I admire the sentiment, Glinda dear, but that doesn't excuse the wanton perversities of base human nature. I suppose it's just as well that they stopped painting religious imagery when they did. The artists were meant to exalt and glorify, not paint a blasphemous shade to their subjects. My father would have strongly objected to a number of them, had he been here to see them himself."

"I wouldn't know," said Glinda thoughtfully, staring up ahead. "My father was never as interested in religion as my mother was, though he certainly had an opinion about everything. He abhorred all manner of vice and corruption where it pertained to his laborers; I doubt he would have cared much about paintings."

The girls found a small table near the main entrance and set their belongings down. Nanny helped Nessa to her seat by an indoor vine while Glinda took the chair opposite.

"Well, I hope your mother made up for his shortcomings," Nessa replied in her standard, self-righteous fashion. "A young girl's spiritual education is every bit as important as her secular one. Parents should always be encouraging of both."

"They should also have the good sense to keep their sordid habits to the barn or bedroom—_not_ in front of the children," said Nanny, taking out her knitting.

Nessa blushed with embarrassment. "Thank you for the observation, Nanny. Now please don't speak again."

Glinda folded her hands in her lap, still pondering Nessa's words. "My Amas were mostly responsible for my upbringing; the role of my parents was more superficial. They loved and adored me as parents are wont to, but the bulk of my learning was left to my minders. They did a fair job, I suppose, in teaching me the secular and the spiritual. I tried to be good, and I learned how to pray. Church was often a little boring at times, but I enjoyed singing the hymns. It seemed sufficient for them, so it was sufficient for me. I never really questioned it."

"That's a false sense of security, Glinda; you'd do well to reconsider your own moral standing. Our commitment to the Unnamed God is more than just a casual pastime; it's an active and eager dedication of the soul. How can we hope to combat evil if we're carelessly indifferent about our salvation? The world is a portrait of wickedness, dear girl, and every kind of temptation surrounds you. Greed… vanity…"

"Elphaba?" said Glinda suddenly.

She was startled to see what was undoubtedly her roommate swiftly entering the building—a flash of green and crimson with her customary cloak billowing behind her. The expression on Elphaba's face was uncommonly sour, though there was also a fixed determination there that complemented the anger.

Nessa clearly hadn't caught on to the situation, as she leveled Glinda with an unusual stare. "I beg your pardon?"

"But of course," said Elphaba, approaching their table. "Shall I pardon you from the sin and tyranny of all others, or did the cabbage at lunch not agree with your constitution?"

Nessa turned to her sister with a look of severe agitation, while Nanny nervously clicked her tongue. "You've the devil in you this afternoon, poppet. I'd know that fiendish look anywhere. What poor little fellow have you bitten this time?"

"No one worth sinking my teeth into," she replied caustically, dropping her books on the table. "Send me the floods and I'll happily smolder, so long as they take every last idiot at Briscoe Hall with them. Sometimes I think the greatest thing that father ever did for us was abandoning Munchkinland completely. To say that the inhabitants of that whole cursed country are stupid, cock-addled fools is being charitable, and I'm in no mood for charity."

"Well!" said Nanny in mild shock. "So much for ever convincing you to take me to Wend Fallows on holiday."

Glinda quietly observed her friend with anxious and fearful concern. "You've been quarrelling with Boq again, haven't you?" she asked. It was a pitiful statement of the obvious.

Elphaba's gaze soon met her own, and something in her expression softened. "It's not important," she said with a sigh, placing her hand on Glinda's shoulder. "There are better things for me to worry about. Things like you, for example."

"You say that so convincingly, I'm almost inclined to believe you," she responded, pressing her hand against Elphaba's.

The two were interrupted when Nessa cleared her throat, subtly demanding her sister's attention. There was something odd in the glare Nessa gave her that transcended her customary look of irritation. "What happened to your biology lecture?" she steadily, suspiciously inquired.

"Oh, I imagine it's still going on. I guess I just wasn't in the mood to subject myself to another afternoon of Animal cruelty. Besides, I've too much of a headache coming on."

"You know I don't approve of you running around outside of your lectures," said Nanny, setting her yarn aside. "A minder doesn't mean that I'm to be minding my own business whenever you feel like wandering off."

"Well then, would you _mind_ getting out of your chair and doing something useful for a change? Or is Nessa meant to sit here looking parched and unlovely while you lazily knit more mismatched socks? There's a small shoppe near the exhibition hall that's selling lemon drinks,_ if_ that isn't too far for your rheumatism."

"Humph," said Nanny, as she rose to her feet. "A small lemonade, then. But don't you be thinking that Nanny will put up with any of that sass of yours, Miss Elphie-ba. You're not _too_ old to be taken over my knee and have your backside smarted with a hickory stick."

"Away with you, woman," said Elphaba dismissively. "You can swat me to death when you're done."

They all watched as Nanny stormed off in the direction of the exhibition hall, and Elphaba immediately sat down. Glinda was a little astonished by her roommate's offensive manner, and Nessa looked every bit as shocked.

"That was incredibly rude of you," said Nessa thinly. "She didn't deserve to be treated like that."

"No she didn't," Elphaba relented, "but I'm hard pressed for time, and there wasn't a delicate way of removing her from the table. She'll just have to forgive me later, or swat my hide like she previously threatened."

"Has something happened?" asked Glinda nervously, suddenly touching her throat.

Elphaba looked unsure of how to answer her, so she chose to be vague as usual. "It's much the same as it's always been, for better or for worse. The good news is that Crope has leant me the keys to the Three Queens Library. I'll have full access to all of their gloriously restricted materials and any other oddities I may need. Unfortunately, the keys have to be returned early tomorrow, so time is woefully short. The best I can hope for is to hurry there now and trust that their security will be light this evening."

Glinda looked skeptical. "You're going there now? Darling, it's still early."

"It's also Friday, beloved heart. The library closes at five. If I can steal my way in before they lock the place down, I can hide in one of the cupboards that house the periodicals. With the keys at my disposal, I'll be able to leave later tonight without triggering alarms or the usual mess that accompanies breaking-and-entering."

"Is this wise, Elphaba?" said Nessa disapprovingly. "It seems a little reckless to put yourself in such a position, and all for a bunch of silly books. Suppose they should discover you—what would you do then?"

"Tsk, dear Nessarose… how you're always underestimating me. Being reckless and flouting rules is hardly all that new to me; you might even say it's becoming a habit." Elphaba unlocked her bag and began emptying its contents on the table. "I'll leave these books with you, Glinda, in case I find something at the library worth borrowing."

Glinda was hesitant to voice her concerns, lest Elphaba take offense. "Nessa's point is valid, Elphie. It's a lot to risk if they find you."

"Have _you_ lost faith in me too, sweet Glinda?" said Elphaba, clutching her chest. "I'm torn beyond description!"

Glinda bit her lip in what she knew was her most irritably charming manner, and tried her best to look serious. "Would you at _least_ let me go with you? I don't like the idea of you being there alone. You wouldn't need to hide me—I could come after hours when the grounds are deserted."

Elphaba took her hand. "Much as I would relish the pleasure of your company, I'd better go alone. I have an inkling that Morrible will be keeping a close watch on you, and we simply can't risk discovery. You'll be better off staying with Nanny and Nessarose. They're far less moody than I am."

She rose from the chair with her now empty satchel, and turned again to her sister. "Keep an eye on her, Nessa, and don't let Nanny know of our plans. Tell her I've gone home with a migraine or whatever strikes your fancy. I'm going to be late; there's no helping that, so try and stay out of trouble."

Glinda twisted her fingers into her skirts, trying to hide her nervousness. "Just how late is late?" she asked.

"Well, hopefully not _so_ late that you'll abandon me for another storage room," said Elphaba, kneeling beside her chair. "Unless you want me to follow you there for your own mischievous purposes."

"You're incorrigible," said Glinda wryly, pressing her forehead against Elphaba's.

Their small moment was immediately cut short when Nessa interjected again. "I think you'd better be going," she said in a voice that seemed wholly unnatural. "The daylight's close to fading, Elphaba, and you're wasting precious time."

"That I am," said Elphaba quickly as she stood up from the ground. "Send my apologies to Nanny when she returns, and avoid Morrible where you can. If Boq comes by, tell him to piss off, or threaten him with a spell."

"Be careful," said Glinda, taking her hand. "Please don't be too late."

"A porcelain promise is all I can give, but I'll do my best not to break it." She pressed a kiss to Glinda's forehead, and whispered, "Try to wait up for me."

Glinda nodded, and soon, Elphaba left the party without a second glance. She flew out of the building and into the mists, vanishing like some curious green specter. Glinda watched with a mixture of emotions, most notably adoration and fear. It left her heartsick for a remarkable moment, and she'd nearly forgotten that Nessarose was still there...

…Quietly, carefully watching her.

"Elphaba Thropp," said Glinda wistfully, placing her chin in her hand. "Who would suspect that a creature so severe could capture a heart so easily?"

"Yes," replied Nessa, as calm as the grave. "Who would suspect indeed?"

* * *

In the high Glikkus Mountains along the eastern side of the canals, there was a ferocious season during the early fall that the miners often referred to as the _Ubestva_. Characterized by its freezing rains and red starless nights, it tended to herald the violent winters that blanketed the highlands in ice. The Glikkans likened it to an overture of sorts; the sinister prelude to one of nature's cruelest killing seasons.

In a way, that night saw the beginning of another violent prelude; one that would fall as rapidly as the deadly Ubestva storms.

Somewhere within the empty rooms of the Three Queens Library, the poor light of a lantern burned, and the quiet sounds of rustling papers filtered through the surrounding silence. There, enclosed by stacks of antiquated tomes, Elphaba sat hunched over a small writing desk, lost in the pages of a book. A flask of mint tea was set beside her, as well as a pile of old sorcery manuscripts. They had been scavenged, surveyed, and completely discarded— all within the space of the evening.

The clock in the outside hall chimed ten o'clock. Elphaba looked up with a heavy sigh, and wearily closed the book.

_Another miserable failure_.

The pattern held firm for the past five hours, where every new volume she opened and read through would be closed with nothing gained. It was a dismal kind of practice that gave her some semblance of progression, even if none had been made. But now time was pressing down on her, and she felt the enormity of its weight with every passing minute.

She tried to ignore the hunger that gnawed at her in due punishment for skipping the evening meal. She tried to ignore that her eyes were killing her, largely in thanks to the dozens of books she'd been poring over all night. She especially tried to ignore the thought of Glinda, sitting patiently next to the fire and waiting for her to return. And yet, with all of these thoughts consuming her, Elphaba refused to move.

Was it stubbornness? A willful conviction that the answers she sought simply _had _to be here, and finding them was only a matter of time? Or did she secretly know, in her hardest of hearts, that this was her last hope? The final, fleeting gasp of the desperate, dying man?

Elphaba ran a hand over her eyes, and opened another book.

No. She had to stop thinking like that. Of course there were answers. There was an answer to everything. All she needed was more time and a hell of a lot more patience. Perhaps if she stared at the pages long enough, the words would suddenly reform and tell her everything she wanted to know.

"Miss Elphaba?"

Elphaba gave a start. For a brief moment, she wondered if the book had actually spoken to her, and then mocked herself for the thought. When she finally looked up, she saw Fiyero, of all people, standing out in the hallway. His being there seemed every bit as surreal as the thought of a talking book, and although she wasn't alarmed by his presence, she wasn't totally sure what to make of it.

"Master Fiyero," she said indifferently, looking back down at her book. "Either you are _incredibly_ lost, or a squealing little Munchkin has decided to rat me out. You don't seem like the type to mistake a library for the Railway tavern, so I'm assuming it's the latter."

"Not really," Fiyero meekly replied as he stepped into the room. His features looked even darker in the half-light of the lantern, though it added an interesting glimmer to the blue tattoos on his skin. "They've all gone to the music hall; nobody else knows that I've come. I was hoping to find you here."

"Well, now you've found me. The mystery is solved. Give yourself a standing ovation, and try not to make any noise on your way out."

He remained standing in front of her desk. Elphaba exhaled in perfect irritation, and was forced to look up again when it became clear he had no intention of leaving.

"Forgive me," she said. "That must have sounded like a request."

"You don't have to put up that façade with me. I know what's going on."

"Undoubtedly, dear prince—you're trying to annoy me. And I really haven't the time for it."

Without invitation, he moved beside her and sat down in the chair next to hers. The look of unmistakable annoyance on her face had obviously done nothing to deter him.

"I have to admit," he calmly continued, "you've fooled them all very well. This brutish behavior has worked to your advantage, but I'm not so easily misled. I see much more than you think I do, Miss Elphaba, even for a Winkie half-wit."

"Do you indeed?" she replied with skepticism while leaning back in her chair. "Then tell me what you _think_ you see, my foreign, half-witted friend."

He stared at her with dark conviction, and placed his hands on the table. "You're in danger," he said, "both you and your friend."

"I have no friends. Only a foolish cast of players who insist on turning my life into a colossal comedy of errors."

Fiyero, unfortunately, was not to be thwarted by her sarcasm, and he scooted his chair even closer. "You fear something, that much is clear; it's got you by the throat. Whatever it is, it has you terrified. I can see it in your every look and gesture."

She glared at him with guarded suspicion, and was a little unsettled by his proximity. "You know nothing, Fiyero. Of me, my fears, or my feelings. Curiosity has gotten the better of you. Either that or boredom."

"I know enough," he replied coolly. "I know Miss Glinda is in trouble."

Elphaba closed the book in front of her, and grabbed another one off the pile. "Is there a _reason_ for all of this stupid self-posturing, or do you honestly have nothing better to do?"

He gave her an incredulous look, as if the answer was obvious. "I'm here because I want to help."

"How novel," she drawled, turning back to her book. "You can start by helping yourself out the door."

Fiyero placed his hand on hers. The gesture caught Elphaba completely off guard.

"You're every bit as stubborn as your friends insist you are," he said softly. "Believe me, it can be rather endearing. But you'll find that I am every bit as stubborn as you are, Miss Elphaba, and my patience is infinitely greater. You fear for Miss Glinda, though you refuse to admit it, and while I may not know her as well as the rest of you, I still care about you both."

Elphaba cackled with malicious humor, though her eyes were devoid of any mirth. "Of course you do," she replied with contempt, sliding her hand out of his. "I'd be hard-pressed to find a single lumbering male at this school who _didn't_ profess an interest in Miss Glinda. Even Crope gets far too giddy whenever he's near her, which is as amusing as it is inexplicable. Your noble libido is very touching, but I'm not here to flatter your gallantry. Relieve your frustrations behind the bookcase and quit pestering me with your concerns."

She promptly made to resume her reading, but the book was quickly slammed shut in front of her.

"I haven't warranted that," he said coldly, keeping his hand on the cover. "When have you ever known me to be anything but sincere? Do you really think so little of me, or are you simply afraid of _everyone__?"_

The intensity of his gaze actually startled her, so black were his eyes in the half-light of the lantern. Gone was the timid young noble who had charmed her upon their first, awkward meeting. In his place, the primal Vinkus warrior had emerged, and there was genuine anger in his strikingly handsome countenance. He left her off-balance in a hopeless sort of way, undone as she was by his closeness. Fiyero was every bit the mystery she'd always believed him to be, and she felt properly chastised for her callousness.

Elphaba took off her glasses and rested her head in her hands. She couldn't do this anymore. Not now. Not with him. It was time to resort to brutal honesty.

"Fiyero," she said quietly, massaging both of her temples, "you _must_ know that I'm fond of you; that should go without saying. But this business is darker than you can imagine, and there's a reason I'm keeping you all at a distance. So please, I'm asking you—for my sake— let this go. _Please._ Think whatever sordid thoughts you want, but I beg you not to ask me any more questions."

"Is it Morrible?" he said, leaning in closer. "Her name touched a nerve with you when Tibbett brought her up today. What ill-will does she bear Miss Glinda?"

Elphaba sighed. "The woman is evil, there's no doubt about that. But if you're asking me for particulars—"

"There was something unnatural about her," he said, cutting her off. "In her manner of speech, you might say. We all perceived it when she called us in to discuss both you and your roommate. I'm not normally a suspicious fellow by nature, but there was something of the illusory about her; something dangerous. And I think it's safe for me to assume that _you_ know something more particular of her villainy."

He offered her a wry sort of grin, and it was difficult for Elphaba not to return it. He was an artful creature, this Winkie prince, and he knew precisely the right words to trap her in his confidence. She dearly wanted to be firm with him, but the fight just wasn't in her.

It had really been a long day.

"I know everything, Fiyero," she said despondently, "and yet, I know nothing at all. I've wandered a forest that's bleak and terrifying, searching for answers that don't seem to exist. Somewhere at the heart of it, my friend is trapped and suffering, and just the thought of it," she muttered while clenching her fists, "just the _thought _of it fills me with rage. Yet no matter how hard I try, or however far I've come, I'm no closer to saving her than I was in the beginning. I am her greatest failure."

She leaned her head back and looked up at the ceiling. The taste of defeat truly sickened her. How had it been, to hold on to hope, and then wake to the realization that she was painfully, pathetically human? Elphaba suddenly wished she was alone, and that the rest of the world would melt into a dark, meaningless oblivion...

"Can you at least tell me," Fiyero replied, "what hell Miss Glinda dwells in? From what curse or cruelty has she been set upon? Where does this violence begin?"

"It begins in her dreams," she frankly replied with a weary kind of resignation. "Dreams that harm her in the darkness of the night. Nightmares that tear and bruise her." She turned her head to look at him, and a wicked smile spread across her face. "Are you amused now, my Vinkus prince? Does that satisfy your question? My friend is the victim of curses and shadows—a tragedy too sublime for fiction."

She reached for her flask and unscrewed the cap, silently regretting that the contents weren't wine. The silence that followed wasn't unexpected, though Fiyero's reaction was overly strange. He wasn't shocked by the nature of her confession so much as he was curious.

"Nightmares?" he asked without a trace of humor.

"Or whatever the hell you'd call them," she replied. "I don't really know what sorcery is behind it, which is precisely the reason I'm here. I assumed I'd find answers in these miserable books, and what do you know? Nothing's come of it. Morrible has outwitted me at every bloody turn. Villainy has managed to triumph."

She raised her flask as if offering a toast, then took a swig of its contents. The tea was bitter as it slid down her throat, and she appreciated the irony.

"What does she dream about?" he calmly inquired, suddenly looking away from her.

She slowly exhaled, bored with the conversation, and brought the flask to her lips again. "What terrifies you the most, fair prince? What could hurt you more viciously than anything? Pick something horrible, and let your imagination run wild. You might just come close to the truth."

"A memory?" he asked. "Of loved ones departed?"

Elphaba nearly choked on her tea. She coughed and sputtered into her sleeve, then turned to him with a wild-eyed look. "What?"

Fiyero hesitated, caught off-guard by her reaction. "I'm sorry," he said, suddenly leaning back. "It's just… well… you made me think of something, is all."

Elphaba raised an eyebrow in silent question, but his remark had evidently embarrassed him. "It's not important... Really, Elphaba. I don't even know why I mentioned it."

"Well," she said, "it's time to humor me. Goodness knows I'm in need of it. Why waste the night with my own nonsense? Let's have some of yours as well."

Fiyero looked uncomfortable. "It's not..."

"I don't care what it's _not_, Fiyero. Just tell me what it _is_."

He sighed deeply. "It reminded me of a story... one they still tell around Arjiki campfires and forests of the Scrow. The tale of the _Bé Kal'Dyvnia,_ or the legend of the Familiars."

"Oh hell, Fiyero," she said with disgust. "Are you going to start spinning nonsense to me about 'dragon women' as well? I could take a page out of the _Oziad_ if I wanted to give credence to archaic poetry or the ramblings of a damned fairytale. Even Glinda thinks that nonsense is true, and as much as I adore the girl—"

"No… not Animals," he said firmly. "Familiar Spirits: the demons of the earth. Traitors of hell… the scorners of light… the false faces of the dead. Those who dwell in the black in-between, and prey upon mortal flesh."

If Elphaba was confused by his rhetoric before, she was now most definitely lost. "I've never heard of such a thing. It sounds like Unionist twaddle."

"It's older than Unionism, I'll tell you that. It's older than Oz itself." He stared off as if in deep contemplation, and rubbed his arm with his hand. "There are legends back in my country; stories that existed long before men would ever commit them to book or stone. Many have been changed, or slowly corrupted, but there are a few whose truths we still remember. The Familiar legends were always ghastly, which is probably why they're the most vivid. I was a very impressionable young boy, you know, and I took things to heart very easily."

"Undiscovered folklore," said Elphaba, impressed. "Well, now you _definitely_ have my attention."

Fiyero remained distant as he stared off into space, almost as if he hadn't heard her. The light flickered across his features, lending him an intensity more dark and regal than before. "There are strange mysteries that linger within the Seven Year Grasslands, and evil that still walks the plains. The elders won't speak of it, for fear of awakening them, but the stories continue under the gaze of our blue Kelvinian stars."

"So," she said, folding her arms, "how does your story begin?"

He sat there quietly for a moment, and then, "It begins with a powerful conjurer; a mortal they called the Soothsayer. There have been many throughout the centuries, or so the legend goes, and each has borne their own kind of evil over the lands of our world. It was said that the first, most powerful Soothsayer brought this horror upon mankind when he sought the murder of his only brother for a crime of mistaken offense. But the miserable wretch couldn't allow the blood to be spilled by his own cowardly hand, so he called to the demons that dwelled in the earth, and pleaded with them for his death. The demons answered and consented to help, but they required a token and willing sacrifice for their vile works. In exchange for the cowardly Soothsayer's hand, they pledged to drive his brother to madness.

"They were incapable of actually killing him, you see, so the curse was performed with sinister craft. By assuming the form of a familiar being- most typically a loved one that had passed- they came to this man in the sphere of his dreams and tormented him nightly with guilt. Memories of a bride he'd lost to the plague came screaming and scratching in the dark. They'd tear, they'd bruise, they'd pierce him with remorse, and every day, the demons grew stronger. Strong enough even to haunt him in daylight with words and claws most terrible. In anguish and despair, the brother killed himself, and no one suspected a falsity to his madness.

"But like all good stories of death and horror, it's not without its ironies. The Soothsayer followed him shortly to his death after the rotted stump of his left hand poisoned the blood in his withering veins. Unfortunately for man, the curse lived on, and many would rise to claim its powers. Legend says that those who performed it were forced to pay with their price of flesh, just as it was in the beginning. They called on the Familiars, they sealed their pact, and sacrificed their hand as an offering. All to consign another to hell, or enslave them to another sinister purpose."

"More sinister than death?" she said skeptically, pensively.

Fiyero shrugged. "Some men don't always crave death, Elphaba. Sometimes there are far more _interesting_ things to be gained when you possess the power to drive another to madness. You might convince a reluctant lover to willingly grace your bed, or you might steal the fortunes and favors of poor, beleaguered men. These victims would consent to you where normally they wouldn't, if only to stop the raging voices from destroying their minds and souls. They called the curse _Bé Kal'Dyvnia_, or 'The Summoning of the Dead.' It's a rite too ghastly and horrible to be remembered, though they say it's still performed in the shadow lands of the north."

Elphaba felt herself actually shudder, though her face remained perfectly stoic. "An interesting tale," she said, lost in thought, "though it seems more fictional than fact. Your elders paint a gruesome picture of the metaphysical macabre, but sorcery requires nothing of evil, whatever my sister might think. It's all very contained within itself, and serves no greater purpose. Why should sacrifice or the living-dead be required to effect that kind of power?"

"Well, because it _isn't_ sorcery in the strictest sense of the word. At least not the kind they're going to teach you in a classroom. The powers they draw from are entirely different. It's witchcraft strictly related to the occult, or whatever the Pleasure Faithers call it."

"So what, then?" she said with mild annoyance. "Are you suggesting that our Headmistress has been conjuring up spirits to torment my roommate to death?"

"I think that's a little unlikely," he replied, "and I'll remind you that _you_ were the one who asked me about this in the first place. Even if the stories _were_ true, and this curse was real, who would know how to perform it? Who would be capable of conjuring something so violently powerful? Morrible certainly couldn't—though she may give herself airs. And even if she _did _possess the strength to do that… well… she's not exactly missing a hand."

Elphaba silently shook her head, and massaged the back of her neck. "Words of wisdom, Master Fiyero; you're a credit to your tribe. I should also say that cutting off your own hand seems like an awful lot to sacrifice just for the sake of driving someone mad. I'd sooner commit every murder myself, and leave all my limbs intact."

"What can I say?" he sighed in resignation. "Dedication requires pain. It's hard to imagine _anyone_ butchering themselves for the sake of power, but well, there you have it. Evil demands sacrifice."

"Sacrifice is required of everything," she said in a weary voice. "Life demands it, love demands it, and everything else in-between."

Fiyero looked at her with a warm, unguarded expression, favoring her with a handsome smile. "Are life and love a few of the things that Miss Elphaba Thropp must sacrifice for? Are they worthy of your pain?"

It was evident that he was trying to lighten her mood, but the weight of his comment actually managed to give her pause for thought. Life and love: when had these ever mattered to her? Why would she have mentioned them so easily—so carelessly? Like they were an essential part of who she was? Elphaba had her own set of self-sacrificing ambitions, and they were _much_ bigger than things as pitiful as self-seeking matters of the heart.

So why, under the gaze of Fiyero, did she find herself stumbling for answers? Was it the honesty in his face; his frankness of character that made it so easy for her to confide in him? Here, in the quiet solitude of a library, he had revealed more about Elphaba than even _she_ was aware of. He had forced her to look in-ward, almost in spite of herself, and what she discovered there almost astonished her.

The long hours spent poring over books with impossible determination. The aching scars she felt every day whenever she reached for a pen. The restless nights spent curled on a mattress, cramped and confined in the most wonderful way possible.

Life and love. What else was she fighting for? What else could possibly matter?

"We're each of us victims of some kind of spell," she said with quiet conviction. "Perhaps I once thought that I was above it all, but this experience has taught me that I'm not. If I have a part to play in this miserable farce, then life and love are my conquerors."

"Maybe that's why we don't take them lightly," he said, turning thoughtful. "Or at least that's why we shouldn't."

"Fiyero the Philosopher," she said with a smile, "no wonder we're all so fond of you. There are startling depths beneath that diamond skin of yours."

"Only a few worth knowing," he said. "But I'm glad you've sought to learn them."

They stared at each other for a long moment, with neither really knowing what to say. Then, with a playful grin, he added, "The mysteries of Elphaba Thropp are far more interesting, anyway. You caused quite a stir when you left today, you know."

Elphaba held back a snort. "I'm always causing a stir, dear boy. Clearly you haven't been paying attention."

"Now that's where you're wrong," he said, then found himself blushing. "I mean, it's not like the boys don't speak of you as often as humanly possible. One would think they were madly in love with you. Especially Avaric, though he's still quite the ass."

"They're fools," she said with love and contempt. "It's a wonder I've suffered their miserable acquaintance for as long as I have. I started out with the worst expectations, but really…" And she trailed off.

Fiyero took her hand in his and gave her fingers a squeeze. "Try not to think too meanly of Boq. His heart's in the right place, even if his head isn't."

"Don't," she sighed. "I don't wish to speak of him. The wound is still too raw. I could have forgiven the fool almost anything, but betraying Glinda… betraying _me_ like that, I don't have the words for how sick I feel about it."

"Try to see things from his perspective," he replied. "Look at yourself through his eyes. You're everything that he wants to be, Elphaba; you possess the qualities that he's worked his entire life trying to find. He can't help but love and resent you for it. None of us really can. You're a force of nature the likes of which Oz has never seen before, and probably will never see again. Who wouldn't want to stand in your shadow and be a part of that?"

Elphaba breathed very heavily and quickly made note of the time. "Oz can wait. I have more pressing matters at hand. Keeping my roommate alive is one of them, and now I have to worry about you as well."

Fiyero laughed with charming humor, and stretched his arms over his head. "Well, as long as Nikidik doesn't try to sic more antlers on me, I might actually survive till Lurlinemas. I can laugh about it now, because I'll be terrified the minute he tries something like that again."

Elphaba quietly chuckled at the thought, and then… her smile faded. The memory of Fiyero's remarkable attack in Dr. Nikidik's classroom suddenly flashed through her mind, and with it, a startling realization.

_A smoky bottle… a jerk of the wrist… a small puff of dust. The antlers skittered and clambered to kill him, almost acting of their own free will. _

'_How does it fall under the heading of life-science,' Glinda had calmly asked, ' when it behaves like a master spell?'_

_Life and death… sorcery and science…_

_The Extract of Biological Intention._

Elphaba gripped Fiyero's arm with a nervous kind of excitement and looked directly into his eyes. "Tell me if you can," she said in a rush, "if you know of a difference between science and sorcery."

Fiyero looked startled, and more than a little confused. "I… well. I honestly don't know."

"Neither do I," she said somewhat breathlessly. "Neither do I, dear Fiyero. Who would _ever_ know?"

Elphaba gathered her small stack of books, and moved to return them to their respective shelves. Then, without further hesitation, she side-stepped the area marked 'Sorcery and Curses' and turned into the 'Life Sciences' section instead.

The hour was late, the night had grown deeper, but her work was just beginning.


	9. Something of the Prophetic

Something of the Prophetic

"_Listen to me sister," she said. "Remember this: Nothing is written in the stars. _

_Not these stars, nor any others. __No one controls your destiny." _

Wicked, pg. 308

* * *

Sunlight. Burning brightly over scattered sand-dunes and setting the desert aflame with its blinding white luminance.

She couldn't feel the warmth of its rays on the exposed skin of her arms and legs, nor the slight breeze that shuddered over the high, ragged slopes of the surrounding mountain tops. Glinda walked without sense or purpose, quietly observing the foreign topography of scorched rock and hill. How long had she been wandering for? Weeks? Maybe even years, perhaps? Who was she to tell? The world was as inorganic as an hourglass, shifting and turning in a strange, synthetic course.

A crow's caw echoed in the distance. She stopped and titled her head towards the sky, looking for visible signs of the creature. Her fingers sought the silk of her nightgown clinging to her waist, wanting to feel something tangible in so insubstantial a setting. When no sign of bird or beast could be found, she let her hands fall to her sides and slowly began walking again.

The Woman followed her at a careful distance; of that, Glinda was certain. Neither had yet to acknowledge the other; however, as it seemed they mutually understood that confrontation would come in its own due time. It was enough for Glinda to wander where she would, keenly aware that those cold, calloused fingers were following close behind. So she kept her eyes forward and betrayed nothing of her fear, allowing the breeze to carry her across the barren landscape.

Without immediately realizing the slight change in the terrain, Glinda eventually looked down and noticed that the path was beginning to diverge. It split off in three different directions, running far beyond her immediate line of vision. A crossroads, then. But which path should she follow? She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight, hoping to find some defined feature in the bleached and desolate scenery. The false heat of the sun created waves across the horizon, blurring the colorful sands of the desert into a strange configuration of whites, corrals, and reds.

There was nothing to be found. No mark of man or creature in this endless, faceless setting. It left Glinda feeling disconcerted; even more so when she heard the familiar rasp of that other-worldly voice sounding in her ear.

"Here she sleeps in final rest

Of twisted word and tale;

The maid, the martyr, the murderer,

The villain of the Gale.

We'll gather 'round to hear the sounds

Of spoiled song and jest;

But where to stand, or where to fall?

The North, the South, or West?"

Glinda wrapped her arms protectively around her body, still staring off into the distance. "You followed me here," she said, unmoving.

"Beautiful girl, I've been here all along. Don't tell me you've forgotten me."

Glinda said nothing. No, she hadn't forgotten. The dull ache of painful bruises still lingered beneath her skin, which she unconsciously rubbed with her fingertips.

The gnarled Woman came to stand beside her, following the direction of Glinda's gaze with her two eyeless sockets. Her boney shoulders sagged in a weary, weighted fashion, as if she too had wandered the desert for far too long a time. Glinda watched her out of the corner of her eye, particularly the long, arthritic talons that were twisted over a threadbare shawl. In the sunlight, she looked more ghastly than usual with every fold and stretch of flesh a sallow, sickly hue. But in spite of the Woman's deathly appearance, she was a frail and tired looking creature; more bent and broken than when she'd first approached Glinda in her long-forgotten Frottican woods.

Glinda clenched her hands into fists, and felt the bite of fingernails against the flesh of her palms.

"Are you the Kumbric Witch?" she asked, unable to face the monster.

The Woman's cracked and horrible mouth stretched into something of a smile, but she didn't say a word. Her silence provoked Glinda to anger, as terrified as she was.

"Do you think me a fool?" she whispered slowly in an impressive display of courage. "Did you think you could lure me out into this desert to make me your terrible sacrifice? To play some part in your violent prophecy?"

A short silence followed, cutting through the stillness of the scene and unnerving Glinda even more. Then the Woman craned her head with a sudden stilted movement, eerily taking on the appearance of a child's clockwork toy. "The answers are here, my lovely young thing, but you're asking the wrong questions. I may say I'm a saint, and I may say I'm the devil, but how would you guess the truth? She who stands in search of such things should never believe a character as villainous as myself. You'd be better off asking yourself the more sinister question of who is telling the story."

Glinda's eyes narrowed. "Story?"

The Woman's smile twisted into a grimace. "Every tragedy has an author, dear girl, much like every murderer has their victim. It's all in the telling, or so the saying goes. Who is the author of your tragedy?"

Glinda clutched her arms tightly. "Are you talking about Temen?"

The Woman's sigh was lost on the wind, and she folded a hand over Glinda's shoulder. The gesture was almost affectionate, though the cold leathery texture of her skin caused Glinda to shudder. "A child's blood is never enough to quench the thirst of the wicked. But why let the dead decide our fates? The path is yours to follow." She calmly tilted her head to the ground, and said nothing more.

Another breeze fluttered past them, turning Glinda's attention to the barren surrounding sands of the desert. The three winding paths she had discovered earlier were evenly split where she stood, bidding her to follow one in a set, specific direction.

"Where do they lead?" she asked the Woman.

"Well _that _depends on where you wish to go. But why trust me, my beautiful thing? I've already said the path is yours to follow."

Glinda looked down at her feet again, pressed into the soft white sand. Follow a path—that was no help at all. Did the hideous thing honestly expect her to choose one at random and _hope_ that it was right? What was she meant to do? What was she even searching for anyway?

_Truth… _something whispered in the back of her mind.

_I'm here to find it… _she replied.

Glinda suddenly closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. A curious sensation stirred within her breast, causing the blood in her veins to race just a little more quickly. Something compelled her to turn her gaze westward; up towards the high, jagged slopes where the wind was blowing fiercest. What lay to the West? What waited beyond that pulled at her heart strings so painfully— even fiercely?

She looked at the Woman, who stood lifeless as a corpse, then returned her gaze to the stark western hills.

Well. It was her path. Hers to follow where she would.

Glinda stole another breath, then took a careful step forward.

High winds quickly spun through the air, kicking up a storm of sand that momentarily blinded her. She shrieked in alarm and covered her head, fearing she would be buried under the sudden flurry of dirt. Then, as quickly as it had come, the sandstorm swept up and over her, leaving her standing in cold, static silence. The blinding light of the sun had faded, becoming a dim and distant black. Glinda slowly lowered her arms, unsure of what to expect.

She soon discovered that she was no longer standing on the sparse desert floor, but in a small, stale chamber made of rotted wood and stone. It was entirely empty, as far as she could tell; there wasn't a scrap of furniture or note of any kind. A large oak door was left ajar on the opposite wall in front of her, where Glinda could see the narrow steps that twisted down from the doorway. Perhaps this was a tower, set high in an old castle? It certainly wasn't her Frottican wood-mill. It was completely foreign to her.

She began walking towards the door, when for no particular reason at all, her gaze fell to the floor. A gruesome stain had blackened the ground beneath her bare feet, and its circumference was of a considerable size. She took a step backwards with vague apprehension, though she couldn't place her fears. The room felt so cold—so strangely inhuman. It was a place that bore sins too terrible to be remembered.

And yet…

"I know this place," she quietly whispered. "At least—I feel I should." She turned to look at the shriveled old Woman, who had somehow managed to follow her. "Where are we?"

The old Woman shrugged her knotted shoulders and crooked her neck to the side. "You'll know it well, in all due time. _That_ you can trust me on."

"But why are we here?" Glinda asked. "Where is this place?

She looked down at the floor with a wave of her hand, and said, "This is the place where she dies."

A cold chill went down Glinda's spine. Her eyes sought the charred mess beneath her feet once again, not altogether pleased to learn that she was standing in a room of death. _The place where she dies?_

"Who?" Glinda asked timidly, still fixated on the floor. "Who are you talking about?"

"The Witch," was the Woman's hollow reply in a raspy, grinding voice. "Or so the story goes."

Glinda finally looked up at her in observable, furrowed confusion. A witch? What did that have to do with _her_? What did that have to do with _anything_?

"What story?" said Glinda heatedly. "Why do you keep talking to me as if we were characters in some silly child's book? I'm not a foolish and sad little girl you can frighten with all of your spells and lies! I _asked_ you for the truth!"

The old Woman sighed and a long wisp of hair fell over her skeletal face. "All of life is a spell, my dear, but still we have some choice. This is a tale that has oft been told, and with its standard ending. There's a city of Emeralds, a crafty old Wizard, and a Witch that dies in a tower. The rest is yours, my beautiful girl— this strained and curious narrative. But remember Glinda the Good and Evil, your ending hasn't been written yet, and I am no more its author than the boy who burned to death."

Glinda felt her blood growing hotter, and she pointed a trembling finger at the Woman's shriveled chest. "I am not evil," she said, almost too low to hear. "_I am _not _evil!"_

"The world is evil, my darling young thing, and we are its finest creations. Remember that when the fires come, and Oz hangs in the balance." The Woman turned to the open door and began hobbling towards the stairs. Glinda watched her with mounting fear, so disturbed she was by her words.

"Wait!" she cried, taking a step towards her. "You never answered my question!"

The Woman stopped and stood in the doorway, tilting her head to the side.

Glinda hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself, and brought a hand to her breast. "Do you mean to kill me? Am I going to die?"

The withered creature's body slumped forward, and she bared her teeth like an animal. "Your fate will be left in more capable hands, Glinda the Good and Evil. But fate is a fickle mistress, indeed. Altogether too fickle."

"No!" cried Glinda, rushing to face her as the Woman descended into darkness. "You can't leave me here! Tell me who is doing this! How am I to stop it?"

A glowing pair of eyes looked back at her, and a hideous cackle followed. "We don't move by _design_, my love... The music merely _guides_…"

* * *

The fog of sleep began to fade, and with it the frightening image of eyes that burned within the darkness. Glinda drifted back into consciousness as slowly as if she'd been floating through the still waters of a lake.

She opened her eyes with sleepy effort, focusing on the indistinct shapes of objects scattered around her. It was still quite dark, as the sun had not yet risen, but the promise of dawn had colored the sky a frozen, lackluster grey. Her limbs felt heavy under the soft press of blankets, and a slight chill tickled the skin on her back. She listened to the tiny chirp of a nightbird somewhere outside her window, wondering if it was really there or merely a fragment of her dreaming.

Dreams. That's all they ever were. Grim paintings sparsely adorned with the same deathly characters. The Woman was there, lurking within the shadows, but something of her presence _here_ made Glinda ill at ease. Why reveal herself now, after all this time, just to tell Glinda nonsense stories in a broken old tower? Did it actually mean anything, or was it the lasting refuse of her own guilty conscience?

With a lingering yawn, she closed her eyes and slowly turned around, reaching out for Elphaba so that she might draw near her for warmth. Her hand touched down on cold, crumpled sheets, then settled over a slight indentation in the mattress.

Glinda immediately opened her eyes and lifted her head off the pillow. The other half of the bed was empty. Elphaba wasn't there.

"Elphie?" she called in a tired, trembling voice, confused by her roommate's absence. Was she still in the unsettling haze of a dream? She quickly sat up in Elphaba's bed to search the room in a panic. "Elphie?" she called again. _"Elphie!"_

A cold hand pressed against her mouth, and Elphaba quickly appeared before her, motioning for Glinda to be silent. She looked almost wraithlike in the darkness of their room, as if she had formed from out of the shadows.

"Nessa will hear," she whispered calmly, taking a seat on the bed beside her. She patiently waited for Glinda to calm, then gently removed her hand. "Forgive me," she said in quiet apology. "I didn't plan on waking you for another half-hour at least."

Glinda let out a sigh of relief and placed her hand on Elphaba's arm. The rough material of a dress-sleeve brushed against her fingertips, and she was surprised to discover that her companion was dressed in a thick traveling frock. It seemed inappropriate for four in the morning, let alone the Saturday activities they had planned together.

"What's going on?" said Glinda softly, pulling the blanket to her chest. "Darling, why are you dressed?"

There was an intense, almost feral look in the russet eyes that regarded her, and had Glinda not known any better, she could have sworn that Elphaba was sharply poised to attack her. While the image wasn't _altogether_ an unpleasant one, she was startled by it nonetheless.

"I had an epiphany last night," said Elphaba spiritedly, placing both hands on either side of her. "A revelation, if you will. Were I not a heretical unbeliever, I'd almost go on to call it a bit of divine intervention, if you could believe such a thing." She was practically shaking as she spoke to Glinda, either from excitement or nervousness.

"You found something?" Glinda asked, shifting a little closer.

"Not just _something_, my dear; I've found the _very_ thing." She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, curled and fraying at the edges. Glinda looked at the paper in silent question, then took it out of Elphaba's hand. After carefully unfolding it, she held it up to the window where faint light was spilling through. It was difficult to see clearly, but she could discern enough of the handwriting to appear properly confused. The paper was covered with formulaic equations and a list of chemical solvents written in Elphaba's untidy scrawl. Underlined in spattered ink at the bottom of the page were the words: 'EXTRACT OF BIOLOGICAL SUGGESTION.'

"I don't understand," she said, befuddled, while looking up at Elphaba.

"Don't you, my dear?" replied Elphaba cheerfully. "I find that hard to believe, considering I have _you_ to thank for this fortuitous discovery."

Glinda's eyebrows furrowed. "Me?"

"I've been a fool, Glinda," she said with a sneer, "in every sense of the word. All this time we've been running around Shiz, burying ourselves in sorcery books and killing ourselves in the meantime. Never in a million years would I have suspected that Morrible was capable of effecting a _different_ kind of evil on us— until last night, that is. Dillamond would be appalled with me. That it's taken me _this_ long to discover the truth is absolutely, unequivocally unpardonable."

Glinda regarded her roommate strangely, then glanced down at the paper in her hand. "A science equation?"

"The Extract of Biological Suggestion," said Elphaba. "An organic compound not unlike Dr. Nikidik's infamous Extract of Biological Intention. But instead of hexing antlers to assault our Winkie princes, this compound was specifically designed to affect sentient creatures. The compound targets the nervous system and produces a hyper-realistic sense of awareness. It attacks the mind as well as the body, where false realities and tangible hallucinations are created for the victim by the compound's administrator. They present an idea to you—or specifically to your mind— producing these cerebral manifestations."

Glinda blinked. "Like talking nails?"

"Or a pair of hands attacking you while you leisurely soak in the tub," said Elphaba darkly.

Glinda silently shook her head, her pulse beginning to quicken. "No," she whispered. "I don't believe it. The very idea is ludicrous."

"What's so difficult to believe?" said Elphaba, taking the paper back. "Dr. Nikidik's stabbing antlers have proven these substances are perfectly dangerous. Think Glinda—you yourself once posed the question of whether there was a difference between science and sorcery. If a compound behaves like a master spell, then what, pray tell, _is_ the difference?"

"But where would Madame Morrible get the idea to use this twisted form of science on Ama Clutch and me? She's no scholarly researcher or noted professor in your insufferable science fields. She's an expert in sorcery…on the arts of magick..."

"Ah," said Elphaba with a gleam in her eye. "That's exactly what she _wants_ you to believe. The extent of her supposed powers is most likely a lot of smoke and mirrors; I'd be willing hedge my bet on that. She may prostitute herself about your sorcery lectures with her simple bag of tricks, making Miss Greyling look like an incompetent fool, but it's all quite the deception, Glinda. The truth is far less impressive. This isn't sorcery, my dear... my heart; it's plain and simple chemistry. She's fooled us all completely, and rather successfully, I might add."

"But how do you know for sure?" said Glinda, leaning closer still. "I know that you're terribly smart, Elphie, but too much of this seems like wild conjecture."

"And as you well know, I don't value theories and guesswork at all. Not when there's physical proof to be had; something of concrete substance. After spending a few hours researching the compound well into the night, I decided to make a little trip to Dr. Dillamond's laboratory to see what I might find. A cursory glance at the storage cabinets confirmed that several things were missing…_ specifically_ the main ingredients and components that form the Extract of Biological Suggestion. Do you call that coincidence, my dear Miss Glinda, or would you prefer to call it what it is… a stroke of remarkably good luck?"

Glinda leaned back against the headboard, still shaking her head. She pulled the blanket a little closer, as the air in the room was freezing. "I don't know what to say, Elphie. The whole thing is incredible."

"It's more than incredible; it's an organic compound with a very defined chemical structure. Do you know what this means for you and Ama Clutch? It means we can find you a cure." She reached over and took Glinda's hands in hers, giving them a hopeful squeeze. The look on Elphaba's face was so clear— so certain— that Glinda felt guilty for the sickening feeling that remained at the pit of her stomach.

A frightening thought suddenly dawned on her, and she looked up at Elphaba with wide, startled eyes. "But Dillamond's lab!" she quickly whispered. "You didn't have any keys! How did you manage to get in, Elphie? Are you certain that nobody saw you?"

Elphaba's jaw was firmly set, and her expression suddenly turned guilty. "That's the second part I've been meaning to tell you; I wasn't exactly alone. Fiyero happened upon me in the library, you see, and he stayed with me all night. He knows about the situation, or some of it at least, and he offered to help with our—"

"Fiyero?" said Glinda in absolute shock. "Elphaba, have you gone _mad_? If Morrible learns that you've involved him in this, she'll—"

"That's not important!" hissed Elphaba sharply. "Glinda, aren't you listening to me? This is what we've been searching for—the key to this cursed mystery! I couldn't just sit and dawdle all night while that noxious substance pulsed through your veins; I _had_ to do something. We've got to get this out of your system, Glinda, and we have to do it _now_. We'll worry about Fiyero later. Do you understand me?"

Glinda stared at Elphaba in alarm, terrified by her roommate's violent response. "Why?" she whispered. "Why are we doing this _now_?"

Something in Elphaba faltered—or fell— and she clenched her teeth together. "Because it's poison," she flatly stated in a dull, defeated tone.

Glinda felt her body turn rigid, and a hand went up to her throat. "What?"

Her roommate quickly leaned in closer and placed a comforting hand on Glinda's arm. "The compound is extremely volatile, dearest; it's no different than feeding someone cyanide. Once it's induced, it begins to break down your internal structure almost instantly—in some cases more rapidly than others." She turned her head, and Glinda knew that Elphaba was thinking of Ama Clutch. "In small doses, the harm is minimal, but if it were administered over a considerable period of time…"

Elphaba didn't go on. She didn't really need to. The girls found themselves studying the blankets of their bed, suddenly unwilling to meet the other's gaze. So this was where Morrible had left them. If the nightmares didn't kill Glinda, then the poison would.

And Ama Clutch…

"How long do we have?" she whispered softly, her voice eerily calm.

"I don't know," her companion replied, wringing her fingers together. "But I'll be damned if I let it poison you for a single moment longer." She reached over and gently took hold of Glinda's chin, tilting it up so that they were facing each other. "Glinda," she said, "I'm going to be leaving. Right now— as soon as possible. I'm heading out to Railway Square to catch the early coach to Tarkington, where I hope to be able to find you a cure."

"_Tarkington!"_ Glinda gasped, suddenly pulling away from her. What followed was an immediate _shhhhh!_ from Elphaba, and they both turned to the wall where Nessa could possibly be stirring on the other side. Once they were satisfied that she was still asleep, Glinda continued in a softer whisper, "That's nearly twenty miles from here!"

"It's the closest town to Shiz, Glinda, and the only place we can find an alchemist capable of drafting an effective treatment. Drawing up these kinds of remedies isn't like mixing a cocktail at one of your family's soirées; it's a complicated process that requires a dexterous hand, and acquiring such a substance isn't likely to come without notice or some considerable expense." Elphaba by now had turned away from her, preferring to look at the floor instead. It was the thing she did when she knew she was going to hurt her, and didn't especially want to see the extent of it on Glinda's face.

"Well why couldn't we just do that here?" said Glinda, trying her best to sound reasonable. "Surely there are alchemists in town that are every bit as competent—possibly on South Street near Chettings or..."

"Glinda," said Elphaba firmly, gently. "I won't be able to find one here; none that I feel I could trust, at least. Morrible's influence may extend beyond the gates of this university, and we can't take that risk, darling—we can't."

"But how can you leave?" Glinda whimpered, sounding utterly pathetic. "You can't just board a stagecoach to Tarkington without _someone_ noticing you're gone."

"That's the beauty of it," Elphaba replied. "We've no classes or lectures today. My absence will be of limited notice to anyone who might be concerned. Nessa and Nanny can think that I'm ill— that the headache I went home with yesterday did me in for good. And as _you _are Morrible's most _attractive_ object of interest, no one should suspect anything is amiss. If all goes well, I'll be back by morning, and we can plan from there."

Glinda anxiously rubbed her temple, trying to get her thoughts in order. She hated this. She hated it with every fiber of her being. "Why didn't you tell me this last night?" she whispered, thinking that might have made things better.

Elphaba looked at her with obvious affection, even if she was trying to look stern. "You were all but asleep by the time that I'd returned, and drooling all over my bed. It was already a ridiculous hour of the night, and I'd sooner have gone swimming in the Suicide Canal than keep you up a moment longer. Why couldn't it have waited until morning? Besides, this isn't something I planned on a whim—I wrestled with this decision all night. It isn't ideal, I know that dearest, but what better way to thwart Madame Morrible than by catching her completely off guard?"

"But my dreams—" Glinda began, then stopped just as quickly, unsure of how to go on. Elphaba was aware of what she was getting at, and took her hands again.

"It's been weeks since you've seen or been harmed by anything," her roommate gently replied. "What do you fear now that can't be undone by the time I return in the morning?"

"I don't know," said Glinda with growing frustration. "A tower…a building…a place where someone dies. I dreamt this all just moments ago, and the Woman, Elphie… she was there… waiting for me… and …"

Elphaba brushed a golden lock behind Glinda's ear, and rested a hand on her cheek. "You're a capable girl, my dear Miss Glinda, and we've beaten this before. One day is all that I'm asking for— not another minute more. Your dreams may frighten you, but they _can't _kill you; the poison is doing that just fine. You'll have Nessa and Nanny to keep you company, or even Fiyero if the others become a headache. I'll be back by morning, you have my word. Just hold out for me until then."

She brushed her thumb along Glinda's cheek, hoping to find a willing response. Glinda sat there in wretched defeat, knowing full well that Elphaba had already made up her mind. She turned her head and looked at the clock in silent resignation.

Elphaba quickly stood up from the bed and began to move about the room. She silently gathered her things together while ducking in and out of the washroom, obviously eager to set off. Being unable to sit still herself, Glinda eventually got out of bed and moved over to her dresser. The floor was icy beneath her feet, and she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders in order to fight off the chill.

_This is it_, she said to herself, retrieving a coin purse from out of her dresser drawer. Her friend was leaving, and Glinda would be alone again—left to face whatever terrors would be waiting for her in the dark. But she also feared for Elphaba, imagining all of the dreadful things that could happen to her while she traveled. She hated the vile turn of her thoughts and especially Madame Morrible. Everything was happening so fast, and she was powerless to stop it.

When Elphaba was ready, she stood near their door, and Glinda slowly walked over to her before handing her the coin purse. Elphaba accepted it without any protest, as both were unsure of how much money would be required for this dangerous, hasty trip. She was wearing the burgundy scarf that Glinda had bought for her, which only made Glinda's heart ache even more.

"Stay away from Morrible," said Elphaba quickly, "and try not to let on that there's anything amiss. I've given the library keys to Fiyero should Crope or Tibbett come asking for them. Oh, and be sure to tell Nanny that I'm terribly contagious if she insists on nursing me back to health. If Nessa should grow suspicious, you can tell her what I've told you, but _only _if she insists. I fear that if she knew I was leaving town, she would raise all holy hell against us the likes of which Morrible could only _dream_ of."

She was trying to provoke a smile out of Glinda, but that was asking for the impossible. All that Glinda could think about was Elphaba and her dream, as well as the very sickening feeling that this was all terribly wrong. When Elphaba pressed their hands together and nodded a quick goodbye, the mounting fear in Glinda's breast could no longer be silenced.

"Elphaba," she said as a desperate plea, not knowing how else to say it. "Don't go."

Elphaba stopped and stared at the door, her hands curling into fists. Had she been any other person, Glinda was certain that Elphaba would have come close to strangling her in frustration. As it was, her roommate turned around and stalked over to Glinda before taking her face in her hands.

"Look at me," she whispered fiercely, now leaning in close. "_Look at me, _Glinda. Would I abandon you? Could I even contemplate the thought of leaving you if there weren't some other way of doing this? Glinda, _look at me_. Don't you realize how close we are? Can't you see how far we've come? Our silver lining is just ahead! Think of it, darling… freedom! We can go anywhere—we can do anything! You can drag me all over your Pertha Hills and dress me in garish pearl ballgowns– it doesn't matter! We'll be free of this wretched place. Morrible will never touch our lives again. Isn't that worth it to you, dearest? Can't you trust me to make this right, or even give me the chance? Think of Ama Clutch, Glinda, if you won't think of yourself."

Glinda was breathing heavily, and she had to shut her eyes. Elphaba had effectively trapped her; how could she argue now? She couldn't risk her Ama's life, and they were running out of time. For good or for evil, she would trust Elphaba's plan.

Even if it ended in tragedy.

_And really_, she thought with a weary sigh, _how could you ever deny her anything? _

Slowly, reluctantly, she nodded her head, even if she couldn't look at Elphaba. She knew she would cry if she caught sight of those eyes staring back at her, and what use were tears to either of them now? Glinda wasn't allowed to be frightened anymore. It was time for her to be strong. So she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, ready to face the inevitable.

They stood near the doorway in total silence, wanting to say a hundred things when there was nothing left to be said. It was a hopeless moment for the both of them, and to Glinda, there was something frighteningly fatalistic about it all. Elphaba took a step towards her, closing the space between them, seeming to be at war with whatever better judgment she possessed. Then, as if unable to stop herself, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of Glinda's mouth with a firm, fanatical sort of madness. Her lips were warm, but they did little to thaw the cold feeling encompassing Glinda's heart.

"Tomorrow…" Elphaba breathed, pressing their foreheads together. "We'll see each other then."

She pulled up the hood of her cloak and stepped out into the hallway, but not before giving Glinda a final parting glance. Glinda watched her as she rushed past the gaslights, clinging to the last lingering shadows before the coming dawn. She stood there in the doorway for an indefinite period of time, long enough to see the sun creeping across the floor.

Glinda wouldn't return to bed. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait for her Elphaba to return to her, and hope that this wasn't a mistake. But in Glinda's heart, or what was left of it, she felt the sting of their parting like a knife piercing her chest. It was the feeling she had, curious as it was, that they had said goodbye for the last time.


	10. The Living and the Dead

The Living and the Dead

_For who was in thrall to whom, really? And could it ever be known?_

_(…) And while you learn, the deadly icicle, formed by all opposing forces, _

_falls and drives its cold nail into penetrable flesh._

-Wicked, 326

* * *

When the day eventually began in the rustling of students, minders, and so forth, there was nothing to suggest that Glinda herself was unduly altered. She went about her morning routine with typical calm exactness, even though she couldn't put much enthusiasm into anything. Dressing and grooming for breakfast seemed to go by quicker than usual, possibly because Elphaba wasn't there, removing all distraction. Glinda of course had nothing of an appetite or any desire to leave, but she had promised Elphaba some weeks ago that she would make an effort to eat more regularly.

She made her way over to the campus dining area before half of Crage Hall was even awake. It was a dreary day, which suited her mood, but she was grateful at least that there wasn't any rain. It would have troubled her even more, knowing that Elphaba was caught in it somewhere on the road to Tarkington. As she settled near her window with a cup of tea in her lap, she looked out over the campus grounds and thought of her dream again.

What could it mean in the maddening spectrum of her already maddening life? Was it poison? Was it prophecy? How could she be certain? Such thoughts unsettled her mind. But she did her best to push them back, knowing that it was futile to dwell on the undefined.

After finishing her tea with a few bites of toast (neither with any eagerness) she returned to her rooms back at Crage Hall to call on Nanny and Nessarose. They were set to attend an early mass at the Unionist chapel in town, where attendance was generally rather sparse on cold Saturday mornings. Glinda wasn't up for much conversation on the way there, except to say that Elphaba was ill and didn't wish to be bothered by anyone. Nanny snorted in plain satisfaction, as if she thought it served Elphaba right for behaving so rudely the previous day. Nessa, on the other hand, looked skeptically at Glinda, but she chose to say nothing on the subject. In fact, she had chosen to say as little to Glinda as was respectfully possible.

They were favored that morning with a lifeless sermon on raising money for a new chapel roof. Their current covering had long been spoiled by rot and inclement weather. It wasn't very damning, or interesting for that matter, but Nessa still listened with rapt attention while Nanny sat snoring on the other side of her. Glinda, for her part, had become rather fixated on a pair sitting in front of them. It was an Ama and her charge leaning together in a tender, comfortable manner. A pretty young girl with a powder-blue frock; her little arm tucked in her Ama's. It was a portrait of simple and understated affection— beautiful for its sincerity. They created the most charming picture, if one felt so inclined to paint them. They whispered secrets, they tickled each other, and Glinda watched them until her heart nearly constricted from the pain.

When the meeting was over, the girls briefly separated to voice their respective prayers to the saints. Glinda found an ikon of the frail Saint Sonoma that was hidden away near the back. Her flame struck the wick of a slim charmwax candle, and in her heart she fervently prayed that Elphaba would be all right. She went to light a second candle for her Ama Clutch, but the match snuffed out in an unforeseen breeze, momentarily chilling her.

She didn't try to light it again.

They returned to Crage Hall sometime before eleven in a gust of wind and leaves. Nanny suggested that the girls freshen up before meeting in the buttery for tea. She escorted Nessa up to their room with Glinda following a few steps behind. But instead of accompanying them up to their rooms, Glinda turned right towards the lavatories.

Most of the students were up and about, essentially leaving the building deserted. Glinda nervously entered the room, not wholly sure if she actually preferred to be in there alone. This wasn't the same place that she had seen _him_, but the similarities were every bit as unsettling. She walked over to the sink to start the water running and did everything in her power to avoid her reflection.

But it wasn't Temen that she feared she might see, as strange as the thought might have been. He was merely a phantom; a shadow in her mind. Possibly a ghost…or a hallucination. Glinda, however, was entirely too real, and so were each of her sins.

Unable to fight the pull any longer, she finally looked up and stared at herself in the dirty glass of the mirror. Never in her life had she regarded her reflection with so much unguarded disgust. She had scrutinized her subtle imperfections before, but she'd never _really_ examined the person staring back at her—the true countenance within.

Glinda the Good. Glinda the Evil. Which one was she, really?

The door to the room suddenly flew open, and a group of students trampled in. They were laughing and chattering with great animation, and among the group were Pfannee and Shenshen.

"Why look, Miss Pfannee!" exclaimed a Munchkin girl in a pert and saucy manner. "It's your dear and depraved Miss Glinda! Aren't you going to say hello?"

"Is it right that you're here by yourself, dear thing?" a hard-faced Glikkun girl asked. "After all, we don't want you doing yourself a harm—or pushing us out of the window."

Mocking laughter followed her remark as they all crowded around the mirrors to better examine themselves. Shenshen, however, remained standing near the doorway, hiding an embarrassed expression and unwilling to look at Glinda.

"Oh, don't be so rude," cried another girl's voice in a playful, cheerful manner. "If you upset the poor thing, she'll just try to hurt herself. Or worse, she'll sic her lover on you."

"Where is the vile green thing anyway?" said the Glikkun girl again. "I haven't seen hide or hair of the beast since she stormed out of Nikidik's lecture yesterday."

"But didn't you hear?" said Pfannee with a laugh as she strolled into one of the stalls. "Miss Elphie is sick today—and who could really blame her? If it isn't her skin that's making her nauseous, it's her highly psychotic roommate."

"How would you know if Miss Elphaba was _sick_? She's already green all over!"

They each of them laughed more loudly than before, gaining in sharp-tongued cruelty. Glinda stood motionless in front of the mirror, her face a mask of apathy.

"Would you all hurry up?" said Shenshen irately, still refusing to take part in their mirth. She hadn't said a word since they'd entered the room, though she did manage the occasional glance in Glinda's direction. "Milla is going to think we've abandoned her. We're late enough as it is."

"You're entirely too impatient," the Munchkin girl giggled while powdering her nose in the mirror. "Perhaps we should invite Miss Glinda to keep you company if you insist on being so queer."

"Well don't do _that_," someone cried at the back. "She'll drag along the pious chit who hasn't any arms!"

"Oh Lurline, don't even _speak_ of her. The girl makes me shudder more violently than the green one. How can a single family breed so much horror? I think Dr. Nikidik should study them all—find out their genetic imbalance."

"I wonder if their mother is a coarse shade of emerald… or something close to jade."

"Either that or she had it with an Elf that was missing both of his legs."

The girls continued to laugh at their cleverness while trading lipsticks and compacts. Glinda remained standing at the sink, still regarding her reflection.

"I'm tired of waiting," said Shenshen with a sneer. "I'm going down to the gardens. You can meet me there with the others if you like, but we won't be waiting long."

"We're coming!" they cried in eager frustration as they began shuffling out. "They're still going to be there, you silly idiot! It's not like they'd leave without us."

The last of their protests and anxious squeals died down as the door swung closed. Glinda was as still as a statue. The water continued to run.

The sound of the commode was heard behind her, echoing across the room. Pfannee quickly exited the stall and stepped over to the sink beside her. She spared a glance in Glinda's direction, her look a mixture between arrogance and pity. She turned on the sink and began washing her hands while checking her reflection in the mirror.

"What a shame that we've come to this," she said with a labored sigh. She dried her hands on a nearby towel and began primping her curls. "After all the time we've spent together, it's really quite the tragedy. But I think I should tell you, at least as a friend, that this… _act…_ this _disease_…whatever you've made up hasn't done you a bit of good. If you insist on ruining your reputation, well…that's entirely your own business. But try not to drag Miss Elphaba down with you. She's_ tragic _enough as it is."

She gave Glinda a superior look, then made to head towards the door.

"I couldn't…" said Glinda, hardly above a whisper but loud enough for her to hear.

Pfannee turned. "I beg your pardon?"

"I couldn't drag her down," she replied, turning away from the mirror. "And neither could you, Miss Pfannee, no matter how hard we tried. We made every effort to mock and ridicule her, absurdly believing that it was in our power to tear Miss Elphaba down. But she wasn't so easily defeated, nor is she the vile monster that you'd like to imagine her to be."

Pfannee appeared stunned by her words, and as well she might considering that Glinda had not spoken to the girl in well over a month. Glinda regarded her with a look of resignation coupled with abject disgust

"You think yourself superior to me now, and I have no wish to contest that. I know perfectly well what I am, Miss Pfannee—a vain and foolish little creature with no more worth than a Quadling estate. I'm the simple daughter of a Pertha miller whose wealth was mostly inherited. What note or distinction my name even holds is entirely on my mother's side, and hardly that impressive to speak of. I am nothing of substance… beauty without meaning… and for you, Miss Pfannee, it's very much the same. For all that we have, and all we were given, we could never touch the remarkable character of a girl whose skin is green.

"Miss Elphaba is everything you'll never be, or could ever hope to become. Her heart is greater than any empire, and stronger than your words. Consider the boys—they're completely devoted to her. Elphaba is beauty with meaning. It's the only kind that has any worth, and it's taken me a lifetime to understand that."

She took a step towards Pfannee then, closing the space between them. Pfannee was literally pale with indignation, but she couldn't find the words to respond.

"She's better than you," said Glinda softly, "and she's better than me as well. Elphaba has captivated the world around us with little to no effort. And when you're married to a fool who showers you with diamonds and screaming children, Elphaba is going to be changing the world. Her name will become legend." Glinda smiled a little sadly, and leaned in closer still. "People like us only _wish_ our lives mattered, or that our skin was half so green. Our stories will long be forgotten, Miss Pfannee— _that_ is our only legacy."

She placed a hand on Pfannee's cheek with cold, invented tenderness. "We are not friends, if ever we were. You wouldn't know the meaning of it."

She let her hand fall and turned out of the room, not waiting for Pfannee to respond.

Glinda was calm, if not deeply troubled, as she slowly walked over to Nessa's room. Just as she was about to knock, she paused in contemplation. Nanny and Nessa would be waiting for her, or might even have left if they thought Glinda was already downstairs.

But there was still something she had yet to do, and she couldn't avoid it any longer.

With a deep breath and a glance down the hall, she made up her mind in silent resignation. After descending the stairs and stepping out of the building, she turned into the wind and headed in the direction of the Sibelius Felque Infirmary.

* * *

Miss Glinda Arduenna was a girl of many accomplishments, which typically came as a shock to no one. She was extraordinarily beautiful and respectfully wealthy, which seemed to qualify as something of an accomplishment to her fondest, stupidest admirers. But beneath it all there was depth to her character, and a great deal of courage to be found. Glinda, of course, would be the last person to say that she was brave in any situation, but everything in her life contradicted this modesty with startling affirmation.

It had taken courage to board the train that would carry her to Shiz from Frottica. She was the first girl there to accomplish such a feat, and the town had celebrated her for it.

It had taken courage to explore academic accomplishment when most young women of her age and standing had chosen to marry early. With wealth and affluence, education was unnecessary, but Glinda knew that school was important. It wasn't enough for her to marry a viscount of some wealthy, gigantic estate. She wanted to prove that she could do anything, and she wanted her parents to be proud of her.

It had taken courage to befriend Elphaba, as complicated as the process had been for them. Elphaba had startled her. Upset her. Even frightened her. And now the most frightening thing was the thought of losing her forever.

But as she stood standing in the middle of Ama Clutch's room inside of the infirmary, Glinda was forced to summon every ounce of courage that she still had left in her.

There wasn't much to draw from.

Ama Clutch was stretched on the mattress in a catatonic state, possibly drugged with heavy medications or in a demented stupor. Glinda nervously took the seat beside her, feeling as shy and timid as if she were five years old again. She reached for her hand, which was cold and clammy, and slowly wrapped her fingers around it.

"I neglected to finish my breakfast this morning," she said with a soft smile. "Are you very angry with me?"

Ama Clutch was completely unresponsive, but Glinda continued undeterred.

"I think you could hardly blame me, dearest. Their selection today was dreadful. The toast was all burnt, the persimmons were bruised, and the tea was… far too weak." She stopped when she caught the tremble in her voice, and took a breath to regain her composure. "It's not quite as rich as you used to make it, and never nearly as sweet."

A single tear trickled down her cheek, but Glinda chose to ignore it as she leaned in slightly closer. "Winter is nearly on its way here, and mother wants us to return home for Lurlinemas. She's quite concerned that you haven't recovered, and is threatening to come up and fetch you herself. We both know that she _would_, dear Ama, so you'd better prepare yourself."

The smile that Glinda favored her with was sad and painfully cheerless. She smoothed a strand of sweaty hair away from her Ama's brow.

"Elphie thinks that we might find a cure for you," she said in a quieter voice. "She believes that we're victims of some terrible plot, but I'm not so sure, my darling. I'm not sure of anything at all."

Tears had formed at the corner of her eyes, and she was starting to lose her composure. Her lip began quivering, and she bowed her head— in shameful, horrible guilt.

"You always told me what a good girl I was, even if it wasn't true," she whimpered. "Everyone believed I was something I wasn't. Nobody ever _knew_."

Her voice caught on the last word she spoke, and she laid her head down on the mattress. "Oh darling," she whispered, "just what am I? What wickedness is there within me? I don't want to be evil. I don't want to hurt anyone! I just want so desperately to be _good_."

She pressed her cheek against Ama Clutch's hand, moistening her skin with her tears. The hand was lifeless, and thin to the touch, but it comforted Glinda just the same. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm down, and her gaze suddenly grew distant.

"I think of Temen," she quietly continued, "and of all that I lost when he died. I picture his laugh, and his beautiful face, and I wonder, Ama... I wonder what might have been… if I had died instead."

She lightly traced her Ama's arm with cool, pale fingertips. "If I could take it all back, would I be able do it? Is anyone truly that strong? I see you suffering in this cursed bed, and I wish with every ounce of my heart that I could right this somehow. But I don't think that I'm strong enough, Ama. I'm not… I'm…"

The words finally died in her throat as Glinda collapsed in anguish. Her tears had drained all of the strength from her, but she refused to hold them back. She pressed her face into the bed-linen and helplessly, soundlessly wept.

"Forgive me," she said in a small, sorrowed voice. "Forgive me for failing you, Ama."

There was nothing but silence left to disturb them, except for the sounds of shuffling staff members entering and exiting the room. Glinda remained resting beside her Ama's bedside, knowing it did no good to remain but heartsick at the thought of leaving. Her chest rose and fell with every shallow breath, and her heart was beating heavily.

The slender hand beneath her cheek slowly stirred to life. Glinda quickly looked up to see her Ama gazing down at her with warm and honest affection. She gently touched Glinda's face with cold and trembling fingers, running over the moistened streaks left by Glinda's tears.

"My little one," her Ama murmured. "My cherished little Galinda."

Her eyes were wide and perfectly clear as the madness briefly parted. She beckoned Glinda closer to her, and Glinda anxiously obeyed.

"When day turns to night," she quietly whispered, "and the tower rises before you, remember to carry the lamp by your side and take nothing with you. I love you always. Stay close to the wind until the time is right. The hour hastens for good and for evil. Watch for her when she comes."

* * *

Tarkington was the last of the major industrial cities near Shiz, located just off the eastern side of the great Gillikin River. The majority of Oz's nickel refineries were housed in the city center, and lent the place a disagreeable stench that Elphaba didn't especially care for. Though the city itself was a monochromatic scheme of hard metallic bronzes, she managed to blend in well with her surroundings in spite of her conspicuous skin. Pulling her scarf up high over her face, she turned down another cobbled street crowded with merchants and factory workers. Few people paid any notice to the tall figure lost in the throng of the mid-day commute, which Elphaba might have appreciated had she not been quite so lost herself.

She had been given an address from a local peddler, who luckily seemed more interested in the coins she offered than the motives behind her inquiries. Unfortunately, the directions he gave weren't expressly detailed so much as they were vague instructions on how to locate a non-descript hovel within the city proper. It was almost impossible to discern which direction she was meant to be traveling in. The streets were built on an impractical (and unbearably frustrating) grid. Elphaba was convinced that she'd circled the same set of buildings half a dozen times. Would it have killed these people to put some sort of distinguishable feature on _anything_?

A horse and cart pulled up to the main thoroughfare, and the driver called out to the passengers within that they had reached Khen Street. Elphaba quickly looked down at the paper in her hand where KHEN STREET was scribbled above a list of instructions.

_Praise for the miracle_, she muttered under her breath while pocketing the note once again. She quickly turned left and headed up the street, avoiding a troupe of rowdy children that scuttled past in the opposite direction. At least she was making progress.

The weather thankfully had also been fine, if not unseasonably chill. Elphaba was worried that she might be forced to contend with rain, but the sky above was bright and cloudless. Weak sunlight shimmered across the windows of every building, lending them a subtle beauty that was otherwise non-existent. Every structure was purely functional, holding nothing in the way of interesting design or remarkable aesthetic value.

_Glinda would be horrified,_ she thought with a smirk, then quickly shut that out of her mind. She couldn't think of her roommate right now. That wouldn't do at all. Of course, it was every bit as ridiculous to tell herself _not_ to think of Glinda when that's all that Elphaba _could _think about. Thoughts of her safety were constantly distracting her, which was as annoying as it was inevitable. Was Glinda with Nessarose? Was she out of harms way? What was she doing at the moment?

Elphaba crashed into a squat Glikkun tradesman who swore at her for her clumsiness. She pulled her hood down and quickly shuffled past him, not in the least bit concerned about whatever damage she'd caused. _By the Unnamed God,_ she thought to herself, _I'm turning into Boq_. It was a very humiliating thing to consider, so she pushed that thought out as well.

Granted, there were far worse things that Elphaba had fallen victim to than the beguiling charms of her friend. Her current obsession with dear Miss Glinda was the least of her problems in comparison to the very serious dangers they faced. What would they do once Glinda was cured? What if the cure didn't work at all? Elphaba was confident that Madame Morrible was still ignorant of their game, and yet there was a curious sense of unease that plagued her every step.

It wasn't just the thought of having to leave Glinda behind. It was the frightened look she had seen that morning in her roommate's startled eyes. There was something in that forget-me-not blue that spoke of horrors beyond the veil of nightmares, poison, or murder. Glinda's anxiety for both her and Elphaba was something entirely different. And while it wasn't in Elphaba's nature to second-guess her actions, she couldn't help but silently wonder if she'd made the right decision.

Was this a trap she had willingly walked into? Had she been right in leaving? She'd spent the entire night mulling it over, weighing every decision carefully while Glinda slept in her arms. She could have asked Fiyero to go in her stead; he would have been more than willing to do it. But at some point within the past month or so, she had made this a personal matter between her and Madame Morrible. This was her victory—her triumph to be wrought for Glinda, Dillamond, and Ama Clutch. Besides, she wasn't sure if she trusted Fiyero to find precisely what she needed. This business of cures and chemical drafts was much more complicated than she'd thought. There was no way of telling how far along the toxin had advanced, or if the damage was even reparable.

_Get that out of your mind_, she hissed. It wouldn't do any good to dwell on that either.

From out of the blue and amidst the noise of the bustling crowds, a door slammed open several shops in front of her and startled the commuters nearby. A Badger dressed in a tattered pin-suit was tossed roughly out onto the pavement. He landed awkwardly on his front right paw, possibly even breaking it. The proprietor of the establishment followed him out, dangerously wielding a large metal bar in his hand.

"Clear off you sodding fleabag!" he snarled with violent intent. "You take your kind to the dumps out back where the rest a' you beasts belong. I oughta split your mangy hide and feed it to the rats!"

A large group of people had gathered around to witness the hostile exchange. The Badger was crumpled at the foot of the stairs, nursing his bleeding paw like an animal. A few people laughed, though most of them watched with a look of perfect disgust. The proprietor kicked him squarely in the chest, and the Badger shrieked in pain.

Elphaba stepped forward with wide-eyed horror, but barely managed to stop herself. _You can't…_ she seethed in heated anger while forcing herself back into the crowd. _You'll just draw unwanted attention to yourself. Remember—you're here for Glinda…_

But her steely nerve was quickly smoldering into searing, blinding rage. She watched with fury as a group of policeman broke through the crowds and roughly dragged the wounded Badger away. Why weren't they even questioning him? What was the offense? The injustice of the situation sickened her beyond reason, but hell and Oz, what was she to do about it? This was neither the time nor the place.

_When_ is_ it the time? _she said to herself. _Or have you given up on everything that once had _any_ meaning to you at all?_

Elphaba's eyes narrowed at the thought, and her hands clenched into fists. Damn Madame Morrible. Damn this whole cursed city.

But more importantly, damn herself.

With quiet and careful malevolence, she strode towards the open shop that the Badger had been thrown out of. But just as the cries of anarchy tore through her, a whisper of a beautiful voice slipped quietly into her senses.

_Will you always be there to save me, Elphaba?_

_Always_, Elphaba had replied. More than that, she'd meant it.

She slowly looked down at her gloved fist and the directions held within it. Glinda was poisoned. Glinda was waiting. She needed Elphaba _now_. Her righteous indignation would just have to be saved for another day and time. So she passed by the shop and hurried along, unable to regret her decision.

After wandering the cobbled streets of the city for another half an hour, Elphaba finally caught sight of a narrow alley that housed a variety of smoke shops. She looked down at the note in her hand and nodded with grim success. Supposedly this was where she would find her capable (if crooked) alchemist. At least that was her hope. She ambled between the shadows of the buildings, avoiding the blind cigarette sellers and prostitutes for hire. The place reeked of sex and urine and cheap foreign tobacco. It wasn't the worst place Elphaba had ever been, but she was properly disgusted nontheless.

Some ways down and lost in the muck, a shack rose up that had no windows or signs of any kind. It was a boxed up hovel, sad and indiscreet on the opposite side of a Munchkin ale house. Elphaba hesitantly stepped towards the entrance with more than a little apprehension. Either she would find her healer, or a band of rogues that would anxiously take turns murdering, beating, or violating her. Possibly in that order. She knocked on the door then took a step back, unsure of what might greet her.

A window slid back on the oakhair entry, and the haggard face of a spindly old crone peered out from behind it. She was a miserable sight with a long crooked nose and more gums than teeth.

"Who is this that comes a-knocking so early at my door?" she hooted. One of her eyes was spoiled by cataracts, forcing her to squint up at Elphaba.

"A traveler in need of your notable services," was Elphaba's diffident reply. She didn't know what was more unsavory—the hovel or the creature within it.

"Well bless me!" the crone said in a high, gravely voice. "What an unusual find. Here's a stealthy Quadling character mucking about our Gillikin grime. And yet there's a hint of Munchkinlander on that tongue of yours. Tell me, deary, what you're abouts and what I'm fixed to do for you."

Elphaba shifted nervously to the side, but held her chin up higher. "A curative draft for a case of poisoning—specifically an organic compound."

The spindled gypsy clicked her tongue and turned her head at an angle. "Chemical curses? That's quite the riot. But this is indeed the right place. We've all sorts of mixtures and medicinal drafts here to cure the cruelest of ills. But nothing comes cheap, my dear little duck. It'll cost you something pretty." Her smile grew wider, and it chilled the blood beneath Elphaba's skin.

Elphaba reached into her coin purse and held up a gold sovereign. "I pay with gold of Gillikin quality, which I'm sure will suit you well. If you're after something of a sordid nature, then I'll skin you a Munchkin to decorate your door."

The gypsy let out a ferocious cackle and slammed the window shut. A few seconds later, the multiple locks on the side clicked open, and the door was pulled inward. Elphaba peered into the deep, dank entrance and saw the crone standing before her in a swathe of tattered cloaks. One hand rested on a hornwood cane, the other was tucked neatly in the pocket of her skirts.

"A little gold is a pleasant thing, and will get you a long ways yet," she grinned. "As to the skinning, I have no sordid needs beyond preserving this body for another season. Well, well, lovey, come on in… don't stand there looking so shy. Pull up a chair, tell me your troubles, and let's see what old Yackle will do for you."

* * *

As daylight faded to early evening in the swirling mists of twilight, Glinda tucked herself into bed, but she refused to sleep that night.

If her body had felt even the slightest trace of exhaustion, her mind would never permit her to drift anywhere near unconsciousness. The tangle of emotions that had plagued her all day preyed heavily upon her senses. It made it impossible to feel any semblance of calm, or quiet her restless nerves. Morning was still a far ways off, and the night was only beginning.

She pulled Elphaba's blankets more tightly around her, hoping against hope that something of her roommate still lingered within them. It wasn't that Glinda was solely afraid of the demons that bled at the edge of her consciousness. The threat of physical violence, however prevalent it remained, was a distant concern in light of the warnings her Ama and the Woman had given her. What was there in the substance of dreams to be taken as omen or prophecy? Who wanted her dead? Who would be coming after her?

_Who is the author of your tragedy?_

The hollow moan of a northern breeze broke through the stillness of the room. She turned her face into Elphaba's pillow, wanting nothing more than to be smothered by it.

In spite of every intention to be restrained, her mind took her to horrifying places strewn with the cold, corrupted ashes of gruesome memories past. If she closed her eyes, if she silenced her thoughts, she could still the tide of these painful images for a few blessed seconds. All of her nightmares would cease to exist, and nothing would be real. The burning fires... the blackened stain… the quiet laughter of a child. Everything would fade into perfect numbness, finally dulling the incessant ache of her long-tormented spirit.

But even then, _even then… _the faces were still there, grinning at her with hideous smiles devoid of light or feeling. They would gnash their teeth and cruelly accuse her while carving her sins in her flesh. She would cry and pull back, but they always remained, these twisted faces of guilt. She tried to shut them out of her mind, just as she struggled to drown out the maddening sounds of her room. The wind that shuddered through the desolate trees… the horrible ticking of the clock…

But the Other was there at the edge of the woods, waiting for her… _waiting_…

But for what?

A drop of poison. A violent spell. A room consumed by fire. Death or life; what remained to be bled from her mind, her body, and her soul.

Glinda's fingers carefully gripped the thin edge of the blankets. The voices she heard were equally as cruel as the claws that raked her skin. _You are evil… _they would softly hiss, grinding their horrible teeth together. She shut her eyes tightly, willing them away, and it brought on the presence of tears.

If only she could find oblivion. If only she were _good_.

_The world is evil, my darling young thing, and we are its finest creations._

Glinda twisted beneath the covers while shivering in agony. She was frightened, conflicted, and full of darkness. The pain was blinding and horrible.

A hand suddenly pressed against her shoulder, causing her body to freeze.

"Glinda?"

It was just a simple word, barely above a whisper, but it was all that she'd longed to hear.

The covers were thrown back almost immediately before Glinda's arms were around Elphaba's neck in a clinging, forceful hold. Joy and elation flooded her heart and nearly came close to stopping it. Glinda whispered a prayer of thanks to every deity she could think of. That Elphaba was here— right here with her now— was too much for her to take in. She couldn't hold back the tiny sob that was muffled in Elphaba's cloak, nor could she stop her body from trembling regardless of how tightly Elphaba held her.

"You're here," Glinda sobbed, wanting to say so many things yet unsure of where to begin. She was desperately trying to keep her tears from falling, lest they burn the skin that had become so precious to her. "You weren't to return till morning…"

"Hush," Elphaba whispered, holding her more tightly. "Come… hush, my pretty. Are you going to let me catch my breath, or do you intend to strangle me?" But Elphaba made no effort to be free of her, nor did she think to let go of Glinda herself. They embraced each other as if they had been separated for years, much less a single day. For Glinda, it may as well have been one and the same as she clung so fiercely to Elphaba. Poisoned or cursed…good or evil… she was never going to let this girl out of her sight again.

It was only after some considerable time that Elphaba managed to briefly pull back to better examine Glinda.

"Has anything happened?" she asked a bit anxiously while cupping her face in her hands.

"Nothing," said Glinda, shaking her head. "Nothing happened at all. Oh Elphie, how were you able to return? I wasn't expecting you till tomorrow!"

"By another stroke of remarkably good luck, I was able to catch the last coach out before the midday rush. Are you disappointed? Because if I had known, I'd have delayed my return and taken in a play; something cheap and scandalous."

But Glinda ignored her good-natured sarcasm and tightly embraced her again. "Just promise me that you're perfectly all right and you'll never leave me again."

Elphaba smiled into her neck and held her even tighter. "I'm right here, you foolish thing, and I'll never leave you again."

The moment was as close to bliss as Glinda had ever felt. She buried her face in Elphaba's neck and breathed in the scent of a cold, autumn evening. Elphaba's fingers slid through her hair, causing her heart to flutter. For a very long while the two simply held each other, reveling in the perfect sensation of being together once more.

Unfortunately, Elphaba was forced to disentangle when it had suddenly occurred to her _why_ she had left in the first place. She pressed Glinda back and reached into the folds of her thick traveling cloak. What she produced was a small blue vial that looked practically antiquated.

"Drink this," said Elphaba firmly as she uncapped the bottle and placed it in Glinda's hand.

Glinda looked down at the strange milky substance, then glanced back up at her companion. "The cure?"

"There's only one way to find out."

Glinda nodded in quiet affirmation and took a calming breath. She didn't know why she should feel nervous; it was only a medicinal draft, after all. Even if Morrible hadn't poisoned her, it couldn't do any harm. She brought the vial cautiously to her lips, then quickly drained it down.

The contents had a curious flavor that Glinda wasn't expecting. The liquid was sweeter than saffron cream, and it warmed her blood exquisitely. A tingling sensation began in her ears and spread quickly down to her toes. It was soothing, enlivening, and almost overpowering. She felt as if she were floating.

Glinda fell back, practically in a faint, but Elphaba quickly caught her.

"Glinda?" said Elphaba nervously, swiftly pulling her closer. "Are you alright? Does it feel like it's working?"

"I feel…" she began while lost in the fog of the heady, sweetened drug. How _did_ she feel? How could she describe it? All of her senses were wonderfully alive. Her body was lighter than Gillikinese silk; her heart was a steady thrum. The warm tangle of pleasant sensations had an almost dizzying effect on her, but she wasn't confused, or out of senses. Her mind was perfectly clear.

She looked over at Elphaba, half-hidden in the dark, a sculpture of green precision. She seemed more substantial than any dream or nightmare that Glinda had ever encountered. She felt the pressure of her friend's hands upon her, clutching Glinda as if she might fall. Little did Elphaba realize that Glinda had fallen a long time ago.

Her gaze met and held her companion's beneath the veil of darkness. And that's when she knew— or _completely_ understood the immensity of what she felt.

"C_larity…_" she whispered in candid sincerity while straightening in Elphaba's arms. She gently leaned forward and pressed their heads together, bringing them only inches apart. Was there such a thing as being too close to another human being? Glinda didn't think she could get close enough. Her hand slid down the plane of Elphaba's neck and stopped over a racing pulse-point. The blood was thrumming, pounding in her veins. Elphaba was so _alive_. Her journey continued a little further, sliding cautiously over bone and collar before rounding the curve of a breast.

Here was the center of all creation. Here was Elphaba's heart.

Her roommate sat there still as a statue, seemingly unable to breathe or move. But life was in her— surrounding her— becoming her; a celestial wonder hidden beneath Glinda's trembling hand.

"Do you know who you are?" she whispered softly, studying the form beneath Elphaba's cloak. "Do you know what you are… to me… to my heart? How every inch of me longs to know you… and to have you with me... always…"

She moved her hand back up Elphaba's neck, sliding along a firm jaw-line and slowly over her lips. She pressed the tips of her fingers against them, marveling at their softness.

"My beautiful Elphaba," Glinda whispered with the faintest smile.

Elphaba looked lost. Scared. Uncertain. Her breath was warm beneath Glinda's fingertips. Glinda moved closer, her gaze never wavering, wanting to feel that warmth—that life— as completely as she could. Neither could fully grasp what was happening, and perhaps they didn't want to. The only sounds to penetrate the darkness were the whispers of labored breathing. Up close, Elphaba looked wild and gorgeous, more extraordinary than any creature in the Unnamed God's creation.

Glinda placed the ghost of a kiss where her fingers had left. Her lips touched Elphaba's with the slightest pressure and warmly in their intent. It was only a moment, too delicate to be realized, but its intensity was enough to burn her. She was unprepared for the temperate contact, and it stole the breath right out of her.

It had been strange. Intimate. Frighteningly perfect.

Glinda wanted more.

When their lips met again for the second time, the kiss was more substantial—less reserved. Her hands slid back behind Elphaba's neck and gently pulled her forward. Elphaba hesitated for a fraction of a second, but a second was all she could spare. She gradually melted into Glinda's embrace while drawing her even closer. They experienced this intimacy with captive appreciation; the touch, the taste, the feel of the other. It was all too quickly becoming a craving, and green hands slid along Glinda's arms before lightly pushing them back.

"Glinda…" she stammered in the thick haze of passion while fighting for strength or control. But her words were silenced by another searing kiss as Glinda enveloped her once more. They were captured within the marvel of each other, dangling at the edge of restraint. Driven with need for closer contact, Glinda slid into Elphaba's lap and wrapped a leg around her waist.

"Say you could love me," she frantically whispered between their fevered kisses. "Tell me that I'm worth loving, Elphaba. Tell me you think I'm _good_."

Had Elphaba been in a right frame of thinking, it's highly possible she could have responded with a sound and sensible reply. But with Glinda's body pressed wantonly against hers, there was little chance that Miss Elphaba Thropp was capable of thinking at all. She was a wispy fern struggling against the current of a raging river, but Glinda was _far_ more dangerous than water, and far more persistent as well.

It may have been the first time in her life that Elphaba wanted to drown.

"You…" she panted with heaving effort when Glinda allowed her some air. "You… Glinda… I…"

But she couldn't finish the thought. Not when Glinda's mouth was tasting the heated skin at her neck.

They kissed again with reckless abandon, seemingly unable to stop. Lips and fingers grew bolder as they continued their feverish exploration of each other. Elphaba's hands drifted dangerously over the curves of Glinda's nightgown. Glinda's kisses became more suggestive—more urgent in their devotion. Of all of the lackluster intimacies she had known in her brief and amateur lifetime, nothing could compare to the beauty and mystery that was here in Elphaba's arms. Every touch sent her heart racing. Every kiss was devouring her.

But it wasn't enough. It wasn't _everything_. Glinda still thirsted for more.

Her fingers quickly reached for the buttons at the front of Elphaba's dress. That, if anything, was enough to rouse Elphaba and bring her back to her senses. She took Glinda's face none-too-gently in her hands and roughly forced them apart. It left only enough space between them to allow Elphaba a mouthful of air.

"_Don't ask me for this…_" she violently hissed, her eyes blazing with desire. "If we start this now, we can never go back. All is changed forever."

Glinda was breathing in shallow gasps and her gaze burned into Elphaba's. Whether in defiance or perfect acceptance, she pulled Elphaba forward and kissed her more deeply than she'd ever kissed her before. If this was madness, or a dark oblivion, Glinda never wanted to be free of it.

"_Never_," she breathed with heated fervor. "We're _never_ going back."

The words were more potent than any binding spell; more real than any specter. The force of their meaning tore through each of them, startling them both in a moment of wonder. Whether they lived a hundred years or died at that very moment, nothing between them could ever be the same. All had changed forever.

Was this existence? The nativity of the soul? Where did it begin or end? Something powerful had awakened in them both; older than time or the story itself. It was frightening. It was beautiful. It was an experience unlike anything that either had ever known. If Elphaba or Glinda had truly lived before then, it was only a half-life serving to stir the mortal clay they had been fashioned from.

But here in this room, in the clearness of gazes that looked beyond what was mortal, there was vibrancy. Truth. A revelation.

Life… in its purist, most unfathomable form.

Elphaba's thumb brushed over Glinda's lips. The gesture was tender. Reverent.

Glinda's eyes closed at the touch, and she prepared herself for oblivion.

Fate was decided from that moment on; completely and utterly changed.

Elphaba and Glinda had found each other.

They were never going back again.

* * *

All that was left was lost to the darkness in the endless hours that followed. They came together with passionate violence, moving as one as silks and scarves were scattered carelessly over the floor. There was no hesitation; no modesty or shyness—only a yearning to possess the other before want consumed them both.

Glinda sought every inch of green that moved and pressed against her, and Elphaba was equally as impassioned to savor Glinda's body in turn. Words were abandoned in the muted poetry of lips, hands, and tongues; symphonies woven and perfected upon the planes of the other's skin. Their youthful inexperience failed to hinder them, but drove each maddening discovery. Frustration only enlivened their ardor: torture of an exquisite variety.

The light of the moon warmly embraced them amidst the surrounding darkness. They were learning, devouring, and slowly _becoming_… but what, it was uncertain. The bed was the canvas they painted on with an array of pinks and greens; sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, and always with constant need. They rose and fell again and again, surrendering everything that remained of themselves to the night and to each other. And with every breath and trembling shudder, there came the thought that they could go on holding each other forever.

But the hands that touched and adored Glinda were the most startling revelation of all. They felt nothing like fear, or pain, or death… and everything like love.


	11. Clockwork

Clockwork

_"Well?" she said._

_"Well what?" he answered._

_"Where's the end of the play?"_

_He stuck his head out of the trapdoor and winked at her._

_"Who said the end was written yet?"_

Wicked, p. 480

* * *

"You're never going to catch me! You're never going to catch me!"

"No fair!" cried Temen as he tripped over a log. "You got a head start!"

She laughed as she ran through the thick forest undergrowth, turning every so often to see if he was gaining on her. Temen could run faster than she could, but he was also being careless in his haste to catch up to her.

"I'm almost there!" she shouted gaily when she heard him charging from behind. It was just another bend past the willow, then straight out into the clearing. She pushed through the leafy sycamore bramble and rushed past the old broken gate.

"I win!" she yelled, nearly out of breath. "I win, Temen, I win!"

"Only because I let you," he sulked, staggering up close behind. Galinda knew that wasn't true, but she didn't contradict him. If Temen had let her win, like he so often did, he wouldn't have said anything about it. It made her victory all the more satisfying.

"Oh, don't be so mad. Look, I've brought you some cakes from our kitchen pantry." She reached into the pockets of her apron and pulled them out, handing them to him with a smile. "Cinnamon and short cream— they're my mother's favorite."

He returned her smile with one of his own and took them out of her hand. "Your Ama's gonna be mad at you."

"Not if I blame it on the cat."

While messily devouring their sugary repast, they turned and looked at the splintering old wood-mill, lit up under the sun. They had discovered the building only three days before, and were eager to unearth all its mysteries. "What do you suppose is up in that tower?" said Galinda, wiping her hands on her dress.

Temen squinted up at the turret while shading his eyes from the sun. "It's probably haunted by the ghosts of old saw millers. Towers always have ghosts."

"Ghosts?" she asked with fear in her voice. "I won't stay in a place that's haunted!"

"You're such a sissy," he said, laughing. "If there's anything up there, it's just spiders and mice. We'll fix it up when we're done building our ramparts and gun emplacements." He climbed atop the ramshackle fence and looked out over the forest. "We need to shore up our meager defenses in case of an attack. This country is full of cowardly bandits and foul, merciless tyrants."

"What about our dragons?" she eagerly asked, tying her ribbon on the gate.

"They'll be at the back— probably next to the lake. At least the flying ones. Here," he said while grabbing a stick and dragging it through the dirt. "This is where the moat will go. We'll fill it with eels and poison sharks to prevent anyone from invading."

"Temen!" she gasped as her eyes went wide. "What if I fell in?"

"They're _our_ creatures, Galinda; they won't hurt _us_. Besides," he said as he smiled down at her, "I would jump in and save you."

Galinda blushed at his daring bravery, though she was still concerned. "Silly boy— what if you drown? You don't even know how to swim."

Temen grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "Well...then I'm going to learn."

* * *

Blinding light flashes into view with a ray from the crimson dawn. A childhood memory is lost in a fog that alters the fabric of time.

Glinda watches as forests transform into streets of an emerald city. Faint recollections wash the scene in imprecise shapes and buildings. She is standing at the edge of a bustling platform, waiting at a carriage crossing. Ghosts pass before and around her in a mist of translucent memory. A sense of restlessness pervades her body, though she doesn't comprehend its source. Is weary impatience its inspiration, or does fear plague her emotions?

Elphaba is there in the press of phantoms, carefully walking towards her. She strikes the scene with her razor-sharp verdancy and tall arresting presence. Glinda is overly anxious to see her and reaches to take her hands. But the edges of Elphaba are becoming fainter as skin and sinew begin to blend with the moving shapes of the crowd. Her eyes take on the lackluster porcelain of a mechanical green automaton.

They stand and speak with mumbled words; Elphaba remains out of reach. She kisses Glinda once, then twice, but her expression is grim and unyielding. Before Glinda has time to act, Elphaba is fading into the crowds. They slowly begin to engulf her figure as green becomes grey in the blur.

Glinda is crying. Where is Elphaba going?

She is walking away forever.

The scene shifts to a softly lit room that is stunning and unfamiliar. Candlewood fixtures and crystal chandeliers offset the lush velvet curtains. Glinda stands waiting near a four-poster bed that is covered in a dozen silk pillows. Her dress is white, tailored to perfection, and it tapers down to her breast. A necklace studded with diamonds and rubies highlights the skin at her throat. Her hair is twisted in an elegant knot, and a tiara accentuates its luster.

A body presses against her back in a suggestive, intimate manner. There's a sharp, spicy musk of cologne that quickly envelops her senses. Hot breath sears the slope of her neck and whiskers graze her skin. A large pair of hands begins to caress her in a suave, possessive fashion. They reach around to the curve of her stomach and slowly begin inching upward. Her breath is unsteady as they fumble roughly with the diamond clasp of her gown.

The hands are invasive. Horrible. Incorrect. Their texture is coarse and leathery. Each touch is more insidious, more unbearable than the last.

She endures them without complaint.

A turn of the clock shifts the setting to a hall in the spacious expanse of a mansion. A dinner is being served for a considerable gathering of the city's most fashionable patrons. The tinkling of glasses mingles together with the trill of coquettish laughter. The dinner guests smirk and make-love to each other while the servants quietly attend them. Their faces are gross and unsettling to behold as each are deformed or distorted. Eyes roll and sag; mouths twist and fall as if they were wax on a candle. They are all seated at a large dining table bedecked in crystal and porcelain. White linen cloth covers the mahogany where silver platters are set down.

A shrewd looking man is at the head of the table, watching them all with amusement. His beard is white, his jacket is emerald, and his eyes are the color of jaundice. He raises his hand and the lids are pulled back to reveal mounds of Animal corpses. The guests applaud the necrotized servings that are offered so succulently before them. They tear into the feast with knives and forks in a messy, frenzied fashion. Goblets are filled to the brim with blood, occasionally spilling all over them. The guests take their glasses and make bawdy toasts with the thick, clotted fluid. It runs down their chins and over their hands as they drunkenly guzzle it down.

Standing at the side, in a blue sequined gown, is an ivory statue of Glinda. But is it a statue? The arms are flesh. A pulse trills faintly beneath the skin. But the face is lifeless and artificially rendered by the skill of a painter's brush. The smile is eternal. The eyes see nothing.

She is a beautiful sculpture of ignorance.

A wind-swept plane of grass and hill forms above the assembly. Silver becomes stone and corpses become coriander in a swift and winding motion.

Glinda is bent under layers of color that bind her in heavy bereavement. The sky is cloudy and pressing on top of her like the lid of a stifling coffin. She sees the figure of Elphaba once more, though her friend is darkly altered. She's thinner. Older. Her features are twisted into crazed and bitter anger. She raises an accusing finger and points it in Glinda's face. Glinda is at a loss. She doesn't understand her. But Elphaba is already walking away.

The distance is further than she can manage bound in the confines of her dress. She calls out to Elphaba, but her friend says nothing. She's walking faster now.

On the horizon, her Frottican wood-mill crashes and splinters to the ground. Elphaba is heading straight for the door, and Glinda is unable to stop her. She shrieks with fear at her failed inability to halt Elphaba's approach. A trick of the light turns the mill to a castle— and then weirdly— to Crage Hall.

The door swallows Elphaba into its frame and shuts Glinda out forever. The form of a dragon breaks through the ground and flies to the top of the tower. It cocks its head, it draws in a breath, then heaves out a lungful of flames. The building burns and smolders in front of her with the dying cries of her friend. Glinda watches it raze to the ground, red with ash and flame. The smoke turns the day into the blackest of nights.

She cannot even scream.

* * *

Glinda started from the horrifying vision in a cold and captured sweat. She jerked up roughly from beneath the covers with a stiff inhalation of air. Her skin prickled with an impression of pain like the fine points of needles. It felt as though she had been pulled by cords hooked jaggedly beneath her flesh.

Darkness. Darkness was everywhere. A waltz of black upon black with every mutilated Animal dangling within her mind's eye. She was disoriented. Sick. The air in her lungs came closer to choking her than offering any relief. Was she in hell? Had pain transformed her into the darkness itself? Hot tears stained the flush on her cheeks, and her muscles were violently shaking. Sweat-soaked covers hugged her body, though the heat couldn't stop her from quivering. A dull ache lingered at the base of her groin that confused and even shamed her. Everything felt so foreign and raw in the haze of her awakening.

What had she seen? Where had she been? Why were there voices still screaming?

Sparkling gowns and bloody goblets. A ghastly congregation of corpses. Temen's body smoldering in the corner, forming the same words over and over with his red, lipless mouth. _Wicked… Wicked… Wicked…_

Her hand slid up the plane of her neck and tightened around her throat.

There was no cure. No science or solution to cleanse the stains of her guilt. Glinda was evil in its most cunning form, shaping the horrors of the world. The dream had shown her for what she was—a gross distortion of goodness and light masking the will of hell. Death dripped from her ivory fingertips, honeyed lies from her tongue. She had willed Temen's death. She had murdered Dr. Dillamond. Ama Clutch had been consigned to madness, all by her silent command.

And Elphaba…

Elphaba…

_God in heaven…_

Glinda slowly looked down.

Elphaba was sleeping on the bed beside her, a swath of green tangled within the sheets of grey and mauve. Her face was hidden beneath a veil of hair that fanned across the pillow. Telltale marks along her neck and breast spoke of carnalities they'd explored hours earlier. Glinda stared at her in absolute horror, as if Elphaba's body had been torn and brutalized within the sheets of their bed.

_Look at her,_ the voices began faintly in the back of her mind. _Here, too, is your evil 've taken the girl by force._

Glinda slowly shook her head as her eyes grew wider still. No. No… It wasn't possible. What on earth had she done?

_You wanted her, you tawdry whore. Haven't you always craved this? Murderer… rapist… look at your work. You've violated her against her will…_

Her fingers raked across her hair, digging into her scalp. Elphaba… Elphaba…

By the Unnamed God. _What on earth had she done?_

An image of Elphaba pressed beneath her came unbidden to her mind. The wordless fear that touched her countenance; the panicked and tempting way she clutched at the skin on Glinda's shoulders. What was it all but helpless submission? A consent to be taken by the boundless passions of an ungovernable, insatiable will? Elphaba had touched her, held her and surrendered as easily as Temen burned.

Glinda tried to stifle the cry that rose up in her chest. She bit down on the knuckle of her hand and drew blood to the surface.

She'd wanted Elphaba, and so she took her.

_What becomes is thus fulfilled._

The cavernous jaws of the night opened up to her, beckoning Glinda to hell.

She untangled beneath the covers of the bed, careless in her haste. Her discarded nightgown waited on the floor, the slip of a robe on a chair. How she managed to dress in her fear was quite literally beyond her. She was out the door and down the halls as fast her legs would carry her.

Glinda was fleeing—running—flying—escaping all that she couldn't. Out into the wilds… out into the unknown… seeking a doomed salvation. The crack of thunder sounded overhead as she fled from out of the building. The wind tore past her, the night bound her throat, but still she ran and ran. The gates of Crage Hall couldn't seal her in, or the scraping thorns on the walls.

_Elphaba… Elphaba…forgive me for hurting you, because I never will._

__

_

* * *

_

Lightening rent the slate black heavens and flooded the interior of the room. Elphaba awoke in the flash of its temper, focusing and unfocusing with sleep-weary vision. The presence of a storm could always unsettle her in the deepest hours of sleep, yet there was an instinctive realization here that all was not correct. It was a reflection of feelings too deep to identify; too ingrained in the fibers of her skin. Something spoke to her, or intuition suggested that Glinda was not in the room.

She raised herself on one of her elbows and scrutinized the space beside her. While her senses were heavily fatigued from exhaustion, her mind and heart were hammering. She slowly recalled a draft of medicine… sighs and skin that warmed beneath her touch. The elements were far too vivid to be a dream, yet their source was nowhere to be found.

She climbed out of bed and reached for a robe that was hanging beside her dresser. To panic at this stage might have seemed unreasonable had her instincts been warning her otherwise. As she tied the cord quickly around her frame, her eyes hunted the darkness for signs of her roommate's whereabouts. She mentally noted that Glinda's robe and thin blue nightgown were gone.

Elphaba quickly stalked over to the washroom, which was dark and maddeningly vacant. She returned to the room with restless anxiety and wrung her hands together. Where was Glinda? Why had she left without waking Elphaba up?

Her pulse gave a leap when she glanced at the door and found it partially open.

_Stay calm_ she mentally chided herself while slipping out into the corridor. It was entirely possible that Glinda had made an impromptu visit to the lavatories down the hall. Elphaba sprinted up the narrow passage and into the communal room. The lights were off, the stalls were empty. Still no sign of Glinda.

To say that Elphaba was growing more and more terrified would have be making light of the situation. She dashed back out into the silent corridor and began a frantic search of the building. Empty rooms. Empty beds. It was almost like Glinda had vanished. She flew up and down a dozen flights of stairs, but there wasn't any trace of her companion.

When she reached the foyer that led out of the building, she was horrified to find the doors unlocked. She pushed them open with cold desperation and peered out into the night. Sheets of rain poured down in front of her, forcing her back in the building. By the Unnamed God, why was it raining? The sky had been virtually cloudless.

"Glinda!" she cried with a slip of hysteria right at the edge of her voice. She didn't know why or how she had reasoned it, but she was certain that Glinda was out there. Her shouting was bound to alarm nearby residents, but Elphaba was beyond caring. The hammering water drowned out her cries on top of the rumbling thunder.

There was no way in hell that Glinda would hear her, if Glinda was nearby at all. She turned and bounded hurriedly up the stairs towards Nanny and Nessa's room.

Was this some horrific reaction to the draft? Was there was more in the substance than Yackle had promised? The thought was beyond terrifying to her, as terrified as he already was.

Elphaba stormed into Nessa's room without as much as a courtesy knock. She fumbled with the lights on the nearby wall while Nanny snorted and stirred.

"Nanny," she howled as the lights sparked on and illuminated the sleeping pair. "Nanny… Nanny… I need you to wake up..."

But Nanny seemed opposed to the idea, and smothered her head with a pillow. "Merciful Lurline and all of her saints, what in blazes is going on?" Nessa was already shifting beneath her covers and blinking tiredly at Elphaba.

"Glinda," said Elphaba in a gasp of breath as she leaned against the door. "Nanny… she's gone! Outside in the rain... She's out there… Someone has to go after her!"

Nanny twisted on top of the mattress and misjudged the width of her bed. She crashed to the floor with an inglorious thud and let out a groan of frustration. "Bother and piss— what are you on about? Glinda out in the rain?"

"Out of our room and out of the building. Get dressed… we have to find her."

Nanny wriggled beneath the covers and sat up groggily on the floor. "Oh hell and Oz. Fetch me my cloak and those rust-colored boots in the corner." After some grunting and a few mumbled curses, she climbed back up on her bed. "What on earth is that girl thinking? Just listen to the storm outside! Did she have the sense to take an umbrella at least? How can it even be raining?"

"I don't know," said Elphaba, impatient. "I don't know how long she's been gone for. Hurry up with your boots, Nanny. She's going to get sick in this weather." Elphaba moved to hover near the window and looked out over the grounds.

Nanny dressed as speedily as a woman of her age and bearing could manage. "You're sure she's not tiddling in one of the bathrooms or snacking down in the kitchens?"

"I've searched this building from top to bottom… I'm telling you Nanny, she isn't here! "

"That naugty thing; she's probably off on some late-night rendezvous. You stay here and look after Nessie while I go and fetch the boarding officials. It's all lunacy tonight!"

When she left in a flurry of irritable protests, it was well past two o'clock. Elphaba began to frantically pace the room, worrying her hands together while occasionally glancing out of the window. She failed to notice that Nessa had managed to push herself up into a sitting position, or the careful way she had been scrutinizing Elphaba since she'd entered the room.

"How nice to see you looking so well," said Nessa with dark intention. "Quite the miraculous recovery, Elphie, what with you being so _sick_."

Elphaba tossed her a narrowish look as she continued to pace the floor. "Don't waste your breath with sarcasm, Nessa. I'm _painfully_ not in the mood for it."

"Oh, tell me Elphaba," she blithely continued while shakily getting to her feet. "Tell me what you_ are _in the mood for, because judging by the state of your appearance, it clearly hasn't been sleep."

The words were scathing and full of implications that were impossible for Elphaba to ignore. She turned towards her sister with a confined, cautious stare and took a guarded step forward. "Do I sense an accusation on that pious tongue of yours? I can't rightly tell; perhaps a little more _boldness_ is required. Insinuations are like prayers, Nessarose—the Unnamed God wants them open and honest for ever sinner to hear."

"You want me to be open?" she said with a laugh devoid of any humor. "Shall I speak candidly of your recent indiscretions? Why should I pervert our surroundings with the _grotesqueness_ of it all? The marks on your neck and your obvious nakedness should be damning enough for us both."

Elphaba regarded her sister carefully, then immediately started laughing. It was a sinister cackle so pointed and vicious that it drowned out the thunder outside. "Well look at you," she said, moving closer, "such a clever little girl. Have you made my pleasures a matter of study, or is this something they advise you to learn and perfect in your common unionist prayer books?"

"By all that is sacred," said Nessa with disgust, "I would _slap_ you if I had hands to do it. Debasing yourself is one thing, Elphaba… but with Glinda? Of _all_ people?"

Elphaba turned away from Nessa with an ugly sneer on her lips. "I don't need this," she acidly replied. "And we won't be discussing it further." The window reflected her image in the rain, disheveled and diaphanously altered.

"Oh, you need it… and you're going to hear it. You've crossed a line in decency! Was this your grand idea for helping her? Your brilliant master plan? You invite Glinda into your bed so you can _screw_ the madness out of her?"

"Enough!" Elphaba all but snarled while rounding back on her sister. "Don't you _dare_ lecture me on _anything _I've done. You're not too saintly to be smarted on your mouth, and Oz only knows I have good reason to do it."

"_Strike me_," she taunted while staggering closer to where Elphaba stood. "I'd say after this it's perfectly clear that you're capable of anything! What's one more offense to be borne? But someone is going to have to stand up to you, Elphaba, and it looks like it has to be me."

"How gracious," sneered Elphaba while peering down at her. "A victim through and through. You play the part with such stunning eloquence; one would think you were bred for it."

"That girl is insane," Nessa insisted while refusing to be intimidated. "This whole wretched school is aware of it, Elphaba— everyone can see it!"

"Since when have you ever _cared_ what anyone else _thinks_?" Elphaba spat in a rage. "You've spent your entire self-righteous existence rejecting the wisdom of the world in favor of your worthless, nameless god! I've taken you for many things, Nessa, but I would never have taken you for a hypocrite."

"I don't need to listen to the scandal of others to see that Glinda is a lunatic!" She spoke with conviction, though it was clear that Elphaba had actually offended her. "If you weren't so blinded by your own salacious appetites, you would have noticed it yourself! This dissolute behavior is going to cost you, and its going to cost Glinda as well. The only thing that can save that girl now is the padded cells of an asylum."

The two of them stood there breathing heavily, balanced like hissing pythons. Elphaba stepped menacingly closer to Nessa, and her mouth turned up in a smirk. "Let's not mince words with foolish drivel over insanity or sex. Let's get to the heart of this matter, Nessarose—what's _really_ eating you up?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Nessa, reluctantly leaning back.

"Don't polish that lie with me, little one; you were never any good at it. If you want to talk, let's talk about you and your saintly little desires to keep me shackled to your person."

"Ha," said Nessa with thickening malice. "As if I had _any_ influence over what you choose to do."

"But isn't that it?" said Elphaba more keenly. "Aren't you simply _beside_ yourself that you're incapable of governing my actions? If you can't have me simpering and praying to your god, then you fetter me to you with guilt. So what is this time, Nessa? What transgression have I bruised you with now? Lecture me on how I'm failing you... tortured little saint that you are."

Her sister's nostrils flared and fumed. Elphaba had struck a chord. "I wasn't meant for this!" she cried in a fury. "I wasn't meant to sit and play minder to a silly, self-centered girl! I'm _crippled, _Elphaba— or have you forgotten that in all your rapacious lust? You've forced me thanklessly into this role and you've left me to stand by myself! I'm not fit for it; do you hear me, Elphaba? I'm not fit for this at all!"

_"YOU'RE STANDING!" _cried Elphaba with thunderous volume. "By the Unnamed God, Nessa, you're standing alone! Can't you see how freeing it is to stop being so damned _dependent_ on everyone else? Shouldn't that mean _anything_ to you at all? Look beyond your own misfortunes and see this from my eyes. Do you really think that I've ignored you? Despised you? Traded your affections for another? I've given you the opportunity to grow and to feel beyond your own self-centered interests! So you have no arms! Why should that stop you from strengthening everything that's left? Your faith will carry you for a time, Nessarose, but life requires more than just our prayers. Here you are now—standing before me—yet you still refuse to accept it!"

Nessa was slowly shaking her head, staring at Elphaba in denial. "Father—"

"_Hang father!_ He's every bit as guilty for crippling you as mother was! They've nurtured you into a whining invalid and crushed your ability to _live_. Do you take no thought to what lies on the horizon once Oz is consigned to dust? Think about your future, Nessarose, and every possibility you can picture for it. Do you think that Nanny will live forever? Will Frex always be there to bless his little girl with a pair of jeweled slippers? Or better yet, do you think I'll wipe and coddle you for the rest of my natural life? I'd sooner toss myself in Kellswater before I consigned myself to that fate! You're fooling yourself if you think that this world will offer you timeless deliverance. If there is a God, Unnamed or not, they expect more from you than _that_."

Nessa was openly weeping now, from rage or wounded pain. "I hate you," she cried in a strangled whimper. "I hate you with every fiber of my being. I wish to the Unnamed God that neither of us had ever been born in the first place!"

"_Wish it…" _said Elphaba, taking hold of her sister with quaking, grasping hands. "Damn us both to hell, Nessarose, as only you could do it. But if you think the failing lies on our part, then you are _sorely_ mistaken. I've spent my life in the chains of oppression, convinced that this cursed skin of mine was proof of some moral aberration. I believed that this world was the greater ideal, and I was its deformity. Here in this state of living and breathing, I was the most unnatural of all natural beings. But then one day my eyes were opened to a truth that was far more unsettling. We are not the ones who are deformed, Nessarose... it's this world—this _life_ that is the aberration. It changes us all every day; it turns us into fiends. We live in its chaos with eyes wide open, drowned in the blood of murderers and innocents who pave our way to damnation.

"But do you know the greatest tragedy of all? The thing that destroys me completely? Even in spite of this mortal coil— this malformation of an existence— even now… I am capable of love. My heart practically bleeds with it. So tell me, sister… tell me truly… what is the greater failing?"

She slid her hands off of Nessa's shoulders, letting them fall to her sides. They stood there watching with ambiguous emotion as everything holding them weakly together unraveled like a spool. The spatter of rain on the pavement outside was the adagio to ill-spoken anger. Elphaba turned and quietly left the room, leaving Nessa to weep and fester.

The hallway was empty and still quite dark. She knelt by the door and settled against it. If this was what life had left to promise her, Elphaba would gladly be rid of it. She rested her elbows against her knees and cradled her head in her hands.

_Glinda… Glinda… forgive me for failing you, because I never will._

__

_

* * *

_

The night was a chorus of fading thunder and the moaning whispers of trees. The rain had subsided from a steady downpour into a fine, clouded mist. It whipped and shimmered along the meadow, spraying each leaf and hanging tendril with a soft, silvery sheen.

Glinda was walking (or in truth, limping) through a field of winter wheat. The bending boughs were nearly waist high and drenched from the heavy rain. Her feet were bleeding from tears in the skin, and her ankle was painfully sprained. The freezing ground beneath her feet had numbed the pain considerably, though it was possible that Glinda was beyond recognition of her own physical suffering. The silk material of her robe and nightgown was sodden with rain and mud. The thorns and branches of wild florae had made a mess of her skin. Shallow cuts crossed over her arms, as well as her legs and hands. Her eyes, however, were dead to all but the fixture hidden in the field.

What remained of the moonlight had emerged through the clouds, creating a path before her. It illuminated a contraption both massive and ominous with an ornamental Dragon up top. The turrets and timers were sleek and suggestive—a clockwork spectacle to behold. The device was mysterious and wholly troubling; it was like nothing she had seen before.

A dwarf sat idly on top of a cart beside the massive timepiece. He seemed oblivious to the freezing weather as he scraped the ash from his pipe. There was nothing overly remarkable about him, apart from a spryness of age. He didn't bother to look up at her approach, but remained in hanging profile.

"It's past the hour of fortunes and favors," he said while continuing to ignore her.

Glinda regarded him with only passing interest, though admittedly, it was getting harder for her to focus on any given thing. She tilted her head towards the large clockwork Dragon, a glossy vision searing under the white light of the moon. For a tick-tock machine, it was incredibly life-like with its brandished claws, leather wings and large movable joints. She briefly wondered if there could be a dragon inside, locked somewhere beneath the iron shell, waiting to come out. The thought was curious, if not unbearable, and her hand quivered as she reached out to touch the base of the large mechanism.

The metal stirred— creaked and twisted; the Dragon's eyes went red. Its gears whined and churned into movement with a _tick-tick-ticking _of the cogs. The plates of the neck folded within themselves as the Dragon lowered its massive head below the face of the clock. Glinda watched with interest and apprehension as it turned in a snakelike loop above her, stopping only inches away from her pale, trembling form. Its nostrils smoked with red-hot fire, and its eyes mechanically observed her.

By now, the dwarf had turned his attentions towards the startling, extraordinary pair. He chewed on his pipe, now fresh with tobacco, and let out an indelicate snort.

"Well, well, well," he said with a sigh, "such a state is this. Even clocks are shamelessly manipulated by the wiles of a pretty face."

Glinda was unsure if the comment was meant to be taken as a joke or a glaring insult. Her gaze flickered over to the Dwarf, who struck a match on the end of his boot in order to light his pipe.

"You have a look of guilt about you," he remarked with casual interest. "A look of death as well."

She stared back up at the smoldering Time Dragon, and caught something of her own reflection within its metal skin.

"I'm half-dragon," she spoke with softness. "I'll burn you to the ground."

The dwarf chuckled very loudly at that and shifted his pipe in his mouth. "Oh you can't do that, love; this body doesn't burn. It's the sinews of devils and men. But if you'd like to imagine yourself as a dragon, well… that's your own business, honey."

She paid no notice to his odd sense of humor or the unsettling way that he laughed. Her hand reached up to the tip of the Dragon's nose in an almost loving caress. The Dragon stirred beneath her touch with a faint mechanical purr. It flexed its claws and dug into the board with an almost orgasmic sensibility.

"I want to know," she said blankly.

"You want to know _what?" _he asked.

"How the story ends."

The dwarf shrugged. "An end is often a beginning, and a beginning is often an end. It's all in myth's unsavory appetite; no one cares how it's satiated. Give the spectators the show they paid for: emeralds, wizards, witches and deaths in high forgotten towers. But it's a tired tale, if you pardon my saying so; who knows why they still love to hear it? Don't ask how it _ends_, young pretty Miss Nutcase; just decide what it is that you're here for."

"Truth," Glinda stammered as if looking inward. "I'm out here to find it."

The dwarf roughly clapped his hand on his thigh and took his pipe out of his mouth. "We can fix that, oh yes we can. You'll get an exclusive performance." He hopped off the cart and opened a trap door that led inside the clock. "You'd best take note," he said with a grin. "It should be a spectacle tonight."

He quickly closed the lid behind him, and the Dragon began to clank and whirr as it slowly righted itself up. Gears and pendulums shifted into motion with the clicking of cogs and catches. A stage slid forward on a set of rollers from one of the jutting balconies.

"A play in three acts," came the voice of the dwarf from somewhere within the clock. The lights switched on and lit up the scaffold.

"Act I: 'The Death of Innocence."

A scenic backdrop of a forest scrolled into view, painted the color of midnight. Hidden beneath the small gravel stage, a puppet dragon was slumbering. It twitched its ears and comically snored with a loud, snarled sound. Cardboard bubbles sprung out of its head as if framing the thoughts of its dreaming.

Within the largest bubble up top, a miniature model of her Frottican wood-mill appeared from a rotating turntable. Glinda's breath quickened when she saw a pair of marionettes bouncing eagerly towards it. A little boy and a little girl. Their likenesses were uncanny. They chased each other up into the mill and disappeared behind the partition.

Abruptly, the lights turned red and orange as the dragon lazily shifted. A spark of flint ignited the model, and it lit up like a tinder box. The flames devoured the small wooden mill and looked ready to burn down the clock. The sleeping dragon snuffed in its sleep, and the flames were extinguished in an instant.

She watched tentatively as the smoke dimly cleared and revealed a pile of ashes. From out of the ruins the small girl popped up. The puppet of Galinda was unscathed.

The stage rapidly collapsed upon itself and rolled back into the clock. The doors shut with a forceful clack as if all had been said on the matter.

"Act II," said the dwarf with booming vibrato: "The Death of Reason."

A separate partition wheeled into view beneath the previous display. The curtains parted and a Goat-shaped puppet resembling Dr. Dillamond came into view. He was mixing bottles of bright colored substances in a tiny make-shift laboratory. He was also oblivious to the stealthy approach of a miniature tick-tock machine. It brandished a knife and slit Dillamond's jugular in an exaggerated spray of blood. It spurted out of his puppet neck with gushing, gruesome delight. The blood even flecked across Glinda's face, but she didn't seem to notice. The Grommetick character continued its stabbing until Dillamond's puppet was mutilated.

From behind the curtain, a flustered marionette hobbled in severe agitation. It looked like Ama Clutch, though greatly exaggerated, and she flailed about hysterically. Glinda's heart caught in her throat to see her captured so ludicrously. But it froze when the lights quickly dimmed red again and another puppet emerged. Shaped like a carpe, or a human version, it was undoubtedly Madame Morrible. She produced a bat four-sizes too large and thwacked Ama Clutch across the head with it. The puppet toppled onto the ground in a loopy, spinning motion. Morrible then produced a vial from her ample and heavily accentuated bosom. She tipped its contents down Ama Clutch's throat, and her eyes rolled white from the effects. Glinda clutched the material of her gown in a pale, trembling fist.

Suddenly, all of the lights went out, and the stage retreated into the clock.

"Act III: The Death of the Witch."

But nothing seemed to be happening.

Glinda looked up at the large metal Dragon, wondering if the mechanics were failing. But then a window slowly creaked open at the lowest base of the clock. Glinda peered down into the small dark hole, and her eyes narrowed in adjustment.

"I don't understand," she said in confusion. "Where is the death of the witch?"

"Closer," came the ominous voice of the dwarf. "You'll have to get closer than that."

Glinda balked at the dwarf's suggestion until she caught sight of a tiny figure hidden within the darkness. It was so hard to see; she couldn't be sure if her eyes were playing tricks. It could have been Elphaba, or it could have been her. Glinda had to get closer.

She cautiously knelt down to better see inside as the rest of the story unfolded. And there, shard by shard, the entertainment completed its caricature creation of truth.

Glinda watched it with glassy eyes, finally comprehending.

A clockwork turn.

The death of a witch.

And the dragon's silent dreaming.


	12. An Article of Faith

An Article of Faith

"_This is why you shouldn't fall in love, it blinds you._

_Love is wicked distraction."_

-Wicked, 253

* * *

The search for Glinda had gone on for the better part of the night. It had been, for all intents and purposes, one of the lengthiest, most misguided investigations ever conducted by a group of people who claimed to know anything regarding law enforcement. Though the rain had made it impossible to discern any semblance of a trail, much of the delay was solely to be blamed on the ineptitude of campus officials.

It was only at Nanny's most vocal pressing that a few grounds staff were dispatched to investigate her charge's sudden disappearance. Reluctant as they were to jump at the old woman's hysterics, it was suggested that the girl was mentally unwell and could pose a danger to herself or others if she wasn't immediately discovered. An hour later they started their search, mumbling curses and making quips about the ripe little chit who was "getting it off" somewhere in the dormitories of Briscoe Hall. Unhappily, the affair became far more serious when they happened upon a ladder propped up in the vegetable garden near one of the sheds. It bore the torn hem of a nightdress, soaked with rain and possibly blood though the stains were too washed-out to tell. An alert was sounded, security was dispatched, and a runner was sent to the Headmistress' quarters to notify her of the situation.

A cursory investigation had already begun, though little could be seen or discovered under the pouring sheets of rain. By the time the storm had trickled into a mist, any evidence of the girl's whereabouts had long since washed away.

The resident police force was eventually contacted near five o' clock in the morning, and what began was another lengthy examination of the evening's convoluted particulars. Was this supposed to be a kidnapping charge? What of the particulars? Could her roommate account for her previous whereabouts at such-and-such a time? And what of the girl's mental condition? Could Nanny describe the nature of her malady? Details were drilled over and beaten to death as the sergeant-at-arms sipped blithely from his coffee.

Nanny was furious, but she calmed down considerably when he assured her a group of seasoned officers would be dispatched with lanterns and bloodhounds to search the surrounding area. A few would also be sent to Crage Hall to question the roommate and any remaining witnesses. His assurances, unfortunately, were effected much more smoothly than the investigation itself. It was at least another hour by the time the officers arrived near the Shiz campus grounds.

The process had been slow and maddeningly ineffectual. Little had been accomplished in the five or six hours since the officials had first been notified. And when they eventually found Glinda's body in the frozen hours of dawn, she was lying in a ditch some miles outside of the campus grounds, half-dead from exposure.

* * *

News of the incident spread like wildfire across the Shiz campus. Word was that a girl from Crage Hall was being brought to the infirmary after a mysterious disappearance sometime in the middle of the night. What had happened to her? Was she still alive? How had the officers found her? Details were scarce, though the one thing that was unequivocally confirmed was that the victim in question was Miss Glinda Arduenna.

A crowd of spectators had already gathered outside of the Felque Infirmary, wearing coats and hand-knit scarves to ward off the blustery weather. All at once, the murmur of the crowd rose to an uneasy volume as they watched a cart roll forward carrying the bundled body of Miss Glinda. Whispers and rumors carried excitedly over the inquiring assembly with every suggestion indicating that they believed the girl was a stark-raving lunatic.

"Can you believe it?" came one of the voices somewhere in the throng. "It's the girl who had a fit in Professor Syft's classroom. Lurline, she looks like she's dead!"

"Miss Glinda Arduenna? The girl that attacked that boy from Briscoe Hall?"

"That's the one. She's friends with the Thropp girls if _that_ tells you anything. Look! The green one's standing over there! Beside the building… look!"

"They said she was covered in a filthy blanket, all torn up in the mud."

"Gracious... the poor thing's probably been violated, if not something worse. Whatever was she doing in the rain? Some demented pagan ritual?"

"Miss Pfannee told us that Miss Glinda's gone crazy—that she's been hurting herself."

"Well _I_ heard that Madame Morrible has been talking to the staff about her behavior. The girl is _wild_. Apparently she's been having violent fits in class."

"It's all a sad cry for attention... nothing more than that. Apparently she was scorned by the little Munchkin boy when she tried to seduce him over their summer holidays."

"The staff should definitely have her committed. She's obviously worse than we suspect."

"You're assuming, of course, that she's going to live through this. If you ask me, she's already dead..."

The chatter continued, frivolous as it was, as officials filed in and out of the building.

At the crowd's edge and close to the entrance, Elphaba stood behind a line of officers casually positioned at the scene. Few people were actually paying any attention to her, which was something of a marvel in-of itself. A cloak and hat helped to disguise the green, but she'd forgotten to bring her gloves. When they brought Glinda's body out and carried it into the building, her hands curled up in severe agitation, practically going white at the wrist.

Everyone was right. Glinda looked dead. What visible skin that Elphaba could see had turned a ghastly blue. Her heart collapsed just at the sight of it, and she fought to keep her legs from giving out on her.

"Clear back," shouted one of the officials. "Leave some room for these gentlemen!"

The press of workers, spectators and students shifted at his command.

A matronly member of staff from the infirmary was speaking to Madame Morrible. Nanny was still shouting at one of the officers who was trying his best to calm her. Information was infuriatingly scarce, and nobody was telling Elphaba anything. It was all she could do to stop herself from breaking through to find out what was happening.

A warm hand suddenly pressed against her own. Elphaba turned and saw Fiyero standing there beside her. The look on his face was exceedingly grim, and she imagined it must have mirrored her own. But he wasn't here to ask her questions; he was here because he _knew_. She tightened her hand fiercely around his as they turned their gaze back towards the building.

Beneath the garish rays of sunlight, Elphaba managed to catch Morrible's eye rather unintentionally. There was a glint—a gleam— like the fine point of a razor scraping finely against her skin. She watched as her mouth curled up at the corner— almost but not quite a smile. It sliced brutally into Elphaba's flesh like the serrated edge of a knife.

It was the moment that everything fell beneath animosity's veil. The meaning was clear for Elphaba to hear…

_Why yes, dear girl. You failed._

* * *

__It would be some time before Elphaba was given the opportunity to see her roommate. All visitations had been marked off limits for the remainder of the day. Glinda's condition was described as critical, and the infirmary staff couldn't be bothered to handle distractions from overly fussing peers. In any event, most of the commotion had subsided once Glinda had been admitted.

While the nurses had managed to bring her temperature back to a healthier, more stable level, an intense fever was starting to set in that left Glinda practically comatose. She was taken to a room on the second story level that was sparsely occupied with patients. Elphaba was permitted to hover near the door, watching quietly as the staff attended her in a cool, dispassionate manner. Glinda's body would twitch and tremble with every irregular breath. They placed cool towels neatly on her forehead while effectively treating her wounds.

The extent of the damage Glinda had sustained was of considerable note: torn skin, a twisted ankle, and shallow cuts all over her. Between the severe hypothermia and fever that wracked through her feeble body, it was nothing short of a perfect miracle that Glinda was even alive. Bandages had been wrapped on her hands and arms as well as both of her legs. The nurses would often have to redress them when they became soaked with perspiration.

Elphaba watched with slight disbelief as the staff continued their treatments— the way they touched her with so little feeling, or how their gaze would pass over her. She didn't think it was humanly possible for anyone to be so aloof. Didn't those cold and callous hands realize who they were mending?

At some point after the sky had grown dark and the orderlies had all cleared out, one of the remaining nurses on call permitted Elphaba to see her. Though they weren't normally in the habit of breaking orders under the headmistress' mandate, the nurse had built up something of a rapport with Elphaba during her visits to Ama Clutch over the past few months. It was clear she had taken pity on her, even if she couldn't comprehend a fraction of what Elphaba was feeling. All she asked was that Elphaba remained quiet and tried not to disturb the other patients.

When Elphaba slowly approached her bed, it was not without some difficulty. The closer she came to that feverish body, the more completely she felt the weight of her guilt crushing all of the life out of her. What a fool she was. How could she have been so maddeningly naïve? Did she honestly believe they could match wits with Morrible and come out of the battle unscathed? She had tried so hard… she had worked for so long… yet here, Glinda lay dying. A frightening stillness had taken hold of her body in the earlier hours of the night.

Elphaba quietly took a seat on the chair beside her bed. The faint glow of a burning candle reflected the pallid features of her friend. It allowed Elphaba the opportunity to study her more closely than the morning had allowed. Her hand reached up and settled softly over Glinda's beating heart.

It felt so faint; where was the pulse that had fervently matched her own? A finger slowly traced the rise of Glinda's neck and slipped over a mark near her throat. It was just a little bruise to the skin, hardly noticeable to anyone. But Elphaba knew it intimately as she pressed it beneath her fingertips—fingers that once had custody over Glinda's softest skin.

She remembered something her father had said to her on an evening back in the Kells. They'd been sitting together on their porch near the swampland, watching the sun lazily setting beyond the western hills. _Love isn't blind, my little Fabala, _he'd spoken warmly to her. _It sees every imperfection and every beauty, and accepts them with equal measure_.

She'd never been certain what he was talking about, though it _obviously_ hadn't been her. He could have been referring to the primal sunset, blazing over the rose-colored clouds with a rich ochre hue. Or perhaps he had been referring to little Nessarose, who had been laughing cheerfully at a tiny frog she'd discovered hopping in the mud.

Still… his words had touched something in her that meant more than any of his godly proverbs. It was the idea that love was _meant_ to be imperfect, even if our hearts might convince us otherwise. You don't watch the world with an expectation for something that doesn't exist; you simply hold out the hope that someone could love you in spite of yourself.

Elphaba observed the cuts and bruises fixed along Glinda's skin; her golden hair slicked back on her head, soaked with feverish sweat. She had never looked more sickly and unkempt than she did at that very moment; a far cry from the Frottican beauty who stole the breath out of every fool who dared to cross her path. To Elphaba, however, she had never looked more beautiful, if only because Elphaba was watching her through the eyes of a girl in love. She saw every imperfection as clearly as that sunset she had shared that night with her father. All she wanted was to embrace those imperfections from every moment onward. That she couldn't hold Glinda now, so far away from their room, wounded her beyond comprehension.

Faint sounds of rustling fabric could be heard in the surrounding silence. Elphaba guessed it was the attending nurse coming back to check Glinda's vitals. She lowered her hand and pressed it firmly against Glinda's own. When she turned to look up, she beheld a figure standing beside her in a weathered cloak. Elphaba didn't have much time to be alarmed, for the hood was pulled back to reveal the disheveled features of her erstwhile friend, Master Boq. His hair was rumpled, his glasses were off, and he looked as though he had downed a cask of poisoned Kellswater from the lake.

His eyes found Glinda first and foremost with a fixed and consuming intensity. His complexion paled in the dim light of the candle, and his throat tightened visibly beneath the skin. He sat down wordlessly in the chair beside her as he seemed further unable to stand. Elphaba briefly regarded the boy with a numb, almost foreign expression. She hadn't really had time to prepare herself for his inevitable justified scolding. But if Boq had come with a superior '_I told you so'_hanging on his lips, he'd lost heart the minute he'd entered the room and observed Glinda's countenance.

He could have said anything. He could have blamed Elphaba for this even happening in the first place. _Didn't I tell you? Didn't I say she was unwell? Why didn't you listen to me when you had the chance?_

But Boq chose to say nothing at all, contrary to every expectation. He preferred, instead, to place his hand on Elphaba's that was still pressed warmly against Glinda's. It wasn't surrender, and it wasn't forgiveness; it was simply everything he had left in him. Right or wrongs didn't matter when dealing with a reality that was beyond their power to change. Broken hearts were broken hearts, no matter their size or shape.

Elphaba brought her other hand up and placed it on top of his. It wasn't surrender, and it wasn't forgiveness; it was simple, imperfect love.

They sat there together for quite some time, leaning quietly against each other as the night grew darker still. It was, perhaps, the first time in their lives that Elphaba and Boq completely understood what the other was feeling.

* * *

Time passed in the infirmary wing with little to no sign of improvement. Glinda's fever had firmly settled in, and it left her in a state of delirium.

Physicians and nurses would occasionally file in, keeping notes, examining her vitals, and intermittently changing her dressings. Madame Morrible would often consult with them while checking on Glinda's condition. It was poor news for the select few who were clinging anxiously to any hope of improvement— hope that their friend, their charge, and companion would live to see another dawn.

Elphaba kept an earnest vigil beside Glinda's bedside. She had disregarded her classes entirely as well as her regular sleep and eating habits. No one seemed to object to her presence, and even if they did, good luck trying to move her. When Morrible visited, both of them visibly went out of their way to avoid contact with each other.

Nanny would visit whenever she could, though Nessarose preoccupied much of her time and had obviously refused to see Glinda. Elphaba wasn't going to complain, and in truth, she preferred the seclusion. It gave her time to think on things and contemplate her failures. The constant self-punishment was rather cathartic when it wasn't destroying her.

She'd promised Glinda that she would save her—where had it all gone wrong? Perhaps Nessarose was right after all, though Elphaba was loathe to admit it. She had obviously taken on too much to handle, and had destroyed Glinda in the process. She could live with the knowledge that she had been wrong if Glinda wasn't suffering for it. They were some of the blackest moments in her life, and indeed, among the most painful, but within those hours of darkest despair, Elphaba was not alone. Her charmed circle of close companions had embraced her with warmth and love, and Elphaba knew, in light of the situation, it was more than she deserved.

They had gathered together near Glinda's bedside on a cold and rainy morning, anxious to share their grief with each other in the hopes of finding some comfort. Crope and Tibbett flanked either side of Elphaba, each with a reassuring arm wrapped around her. Boq was seated on the opposite side of the bed, and Avaric stood behind him with a comforting hand on his shoulder. Fiyero sat pensively near the foot of the bed, his hands clasped in front of his chin, his elbows resting on the bed frame. It was the first time the boys had been allowed to visit the infirmary without having to sneak in after hours.

If sheer will could have brought Glinda back, they each of them would have healed her. They had come together in the face of this tragedy and had proven themselves noble men. Crope pressed Elphaba tightly against him. Tibbett did the same. Every face had adopted a similar and painfully somber expression.

Voices drifted down the hall, headed in their direction. The chatter was familiar and could only be coming from the female contingent of their friends.

"_This building is disgusting,"_ came one of the voices; most distinctly Pfannee's. _"I swear to you I'm not entering that room if there's a horrid smell."_

"_Goodness gracious… would you keep your voice down? They're sick, you ninny— they're not deaf!"_

"_Tell _that_ to the troll in the corner over there who's drooling into her porridge."_

When the girls eventually came through the doorway, they were surprised to see all of their friends there. "Boq!" said Milla with some astonishment. "We didn't know you'd be here."

"Well isn't _this _a perfect picture!" said Pfannee, smiling brightly. "I can't believe you boys came calling and didn't think to invite us! I suppose we shall just have to be offended unless you can offer an apology. We might have arrived earlier and joined you for breakfast in the arts foyer."

No one moved or said anything. Elphaba hadn't even turned. Boq eventually stood up from his chair and said resolutely, "Get out."

Pfannee stepped back in utter shock. "I beg your pardon?"

"Are you going deaf?" said Crope brusquely. "He just told you to get the hell out."

"How_ dare_ you?" she shouted with perfect incredulity. "Could you speak more coarsely to a lady?"

"I certainly can, and I definitely will, so I suggest you leave before I'm forced to _remove_ you from this room myself."

All eyes were turned in Pfannee's direction with the sole exception of Elphaba's. Pfannee was reeling from the insult leveled at her and placed a hand on her breast. "You wouldn't dare," she said, aghast. "You're a rake for even _suggesting_ it. Why, you're even _less_ of a gentleman than you _are_ a man by nature, Crope!"

"Oh, go and fuck your self-righteous airs," said Tibbett, getting to his feet. "This isn't a social gathering, you pig—Glinda is close to _dying__. _So if you're here to soak up the news for your homely little chums at Crage Hall, you can turn around now before you embarrass yourself further. I'm not above shoving you out the door."

The room fell into awkward silence as Pfannee opened and closed her mouth in perfect, scandalized horror. Her gaze traveled over everyone in the room, though Elphaba still kept her back to her. Even Avaric watched her with indifference, preferring to say nothing on the subject. He was there for Boq if not for Glinda, and he wasn't interested in much else.

Pfannee turned and left the room with less composure than she might have liked. Shenshen stood helpless as she watched her leave, seemingly uncertain about whether to follow her. As she turned to make a self-conscious exit, Milla roughly grabbed her arm, holding her firmly in place.

"Your friend is sick," she said evenly. "That's enough, Shenshen. We're staying."

She glanced at Boq with an earnest expression, obviously seeking his permission. He held out his hand and beckoned them over to come and sit beside him. Milla joined him with a trembling Shenshen practically on the verge of tears. Seeing Glinda in such a gruesome state had evidently confirmed both of their fears.

They remained together for the rest of the hour as they watched over their ailing friend. Very little was whispered or spoken as if a spell had cast them into silence. Indeed, their charmed circle of companions had never seemed so defeated. But there was love enough between them all to keep their spirits alive.

* * *

Little was left in the advent of dawn that offered any assurance of hope. Everything had all but fallen to ruin when Glinda took a turn for the worst that night.

It started with a delirious fit that caused her to thrash and cry out. Several able-bodied nurses were summoned to come in and hold her down. Her fever had reached a deadly high and her body was starting to convulse. The spasms continued with mounting violence before quieting down into a deathly stupor several hours before sunrise. Her condition was such that the physicians professed that nothing more could be done for her. They had seen this before. They knew what was coming.

It was only a matter of time.

The school sent out a communication to Frottica via the early post as her parents were to be notified as soon as possible of their daughter's failing condition. Everyone said her fate now rested in the hands of the Unnamed God, and to some, a swift death would be considered a blessing from the divine hand of providence.

In all of this, Elphaba scarcely left the bedside of her ailing friend. She hardly moved. She hardly breathed. The hours passed by without notice. Her hand clutched Glinda's as if it were an anchor to what little remained of her sanity. Visitors occasionally came and went, but Elphaba said nothing to them.

Boq came as often as he was permitted and occasionally when he wasn't. Both he and Fiyero had joined her that morning at the beginning of regular visiting hours. The pair talked in low, solemn voices so as not to disturb Elphaba, though neither was sure if she was even aware that they were sitting on either side of her.

When the sound of footsteps was heard down the hall, both of them turned and looked up. Nanny hastily entered the room, followed closely by Nessarose. The gentlemen stood as the ladies approached and offered them polite greetings. Nanny was unfazed by the presence of either of them. Elphaba still remained seated.

"Oh Lurline," said Nanny with a sob as she stared down helplessly at Glinda. "The poor dear looks even worse than before! Is she taking fluids at all?"

"She's been unresponsive," said Fiyero softly, "but the nurse should return again soon."

"It's simply ghastly. She shouldn't be here. She should be resting with her family at home."

"Master Boq?" said Nessa, interrupting. "Master Fiyero? Could you excuse us for a moment?"

The two exchanged looks and glanced down at Elphaba before kindly nodding their heads. "Certainly, Nessa. We'll be out in the hall should you or Elphie need us."

"And you too, Nanny," said Nessa firmly. "I'd like to speak to Elphaba alone."

Nanny looked like she wanted to argue, but there was little use in arguing with Nessa when she used that tone of voice. More than likely she was aware that the sisters had probably quarreled recently. "I'll just pop out and get you some food then," she said with a weary nod. Patting Nessa on the back, she turned and followed Boq and Fiyero as they all exited the room.

Nessa looked down in startling diffidence before taking the chair next to her sister. She kept a careful distance from Elphaba while sitting as close as she dared. Elphaba made no move to acknowledge her, but kept her eyes trained forward. The two remained seated in awkward silence before Nessa cleared her throat.

"I've been thinking about things for the past few days," she began after a few minutes had passed. "Ruminating on much of you what you said to me, and the implications that lie therein. I won't pretend that your words didn't hurt me, or that I've thought kindly of you since you've left. I felt that you had done me wrong, Elphaba, and I've spent much of my time in devout meditation —asking the Unnamed God for guidance and wisdom in this matter. For hours I've prayed and waited for a sign, hoping that divine enlightenment might come upon me. A spiritual experience or manifestation that could calm and strengthen me."

Nessa paused, then sighed deeply, possibly for dramatic effect.

"There was no answer to my prayers, Elphaba," she finally spoke, her expression turning grim. "No heavenly manifestation that made its presence known; no enlightenment that enriched my senses. I was confused and disappointed, though it should be said that unanswered prayers are often more meaningful than those that God seems to hear. And He heard mine, I know that well enough, but I didn't know _why _I was unable to be comforted. The longer I prayed, and the longer I waited, the more certain I became that the Unnamed God was displeased with me for some reason.

"And then last night, while I waited in bed for sleep to come upon me, a distant memory crept into my mind of a place I had long forgotten."

Her tone was actually lighter now—somewhat other-worldly. Her eyes were fixed on a far- away place that caused them almost to shimmer. "There was an old oakhair tree that grew on the side of the sloping redrock cliffs. I think you might remember it… out on the eastern part of the Kells. The Quadling children would always climb it as high up as it would go. I used to wonder what it must have been like… to view everything in God's creation from so spectacular a height. But I had no arms to climb the tree, and father would never have taken me up there. It was much too dangerous—much too high."

Elphaba could hear the tears in her voice, though she still had yet to move. Nessa didn't appear to be waiting for her to do anything different.

"You must have seen me, or known what I was thinking; how I longed to ascend to the clouds. You picked me up and strapped me to your back. '_We're going to climb the tree_,' you'd said. And climb the tree you did. I can't image the time you must have had trying to carry me up there. But you managed it all branch by branch, even when it seemed like we wouldn't make it. And when we made it to the top of the tree, it was more wonderful than anything. We shared an apple and listened to the birds—I felt like we were near heaven."

Nessa looked up and stared at the ceiling, as if she could see straight through it. Was she looking up at those familiar heavens, or merely contemplating their nature?

"Father took us to the river that night where the Quadling children were playing," she continued. "The water was cool and refreshing to sit in, but I couldn't bear to be in it. I couldn't take my eyes off you—you were sitting up on the bank. I guess I'd never thought much about you, watching us play in the water. It was something that you could never be a part of, no matter how much you'd longed for it.

"So I said to myself, _I'll find a way to carry her into the water with me. _I wanted it more than I ever wanted to climb that stupid tree."

Her tears were far more noticeable now, as was her tightness of breath. She took a moment to compose herself before she began again.

"I don't suppose I'll ever convert you, Elphie, and I doubt I'll ever find a way to bring you into the water. You may never discover the worth of the soul, and it's highly unlikely you'll ever see me standing alone by myself. But I'm willing to try, Elphaba… I can promise you that. I'm willing to try for you. If perfection is unattainable in this life, maybe love will just have to do."

Nessa leaned over the tiniest bit and rested her head on her shoulder. "We're not so different, you and I, and it's what I love about you the most. I would suffer a lifetime of your blasphemies and anger as long as I had you close. You won't need to hold or carry me up, and you won't have to take care of me. Just promise you'll stand _beside_ me, Elphie. We just might save each other yet."

Nessa lingered a little bit longer before lifting her head off of Elphaba's shoulder. It was awkward and clumsy the way she wriggled to get up out of her chair. She warily leaned forward to gain her balance, then carefully straightened her body. Elphaba didn't move a muscle while her sister got to her feet.

Nessa carefully walked past Elphaba over to the other side of the bed. Her movements were stiff and slightly inelegant as she was devoid of her favorite shoes. She looked down at Glinda with saintly resolve and a surprising depth of compassion. Then, in an act of immense concentration, she slowly leaned over her dying figure and placed a kiss on her forehead.

Her eyes were closed and her breath was unsteady, but still she held her pose.

"Our beloved creator who hath no name, this hour we beseech thee," she prayed. "We come in meekness and with broken hearts to pray for thy righteous blessing. Grant our friend the strength to endure with thy perfect healing hand. Give her hope—give her comfort—and the will to be made whole again. Our strength and faith endures forever, of this we firmly pray…"

When Nessa leaned up again, her stance was firmer and effected much more gracefully. She imparted Elphaba with a final glance before walking out of the room—shakily, but on her own.

Elphaba remained seated near Glinda's bed, her expression still the same. But when she heard Nessa finally leave the room, Elphaba whispered, "Amen."

* * *

Whether God heard Nessa's prayer that night remains, to this day, uncertain. Perhaps it was Elphaba's finishing refrain that had opened the heart of the heavens. But whether it was providence, fortune, or fate that roused Glinda from her feverish slumber, the truth may never fully be determined or its mysteries entirely uncovered.

The morning was cold and lifelessly dull for the infirmary's beleaguered inhabitants. Nanny had half-dragged Elphaba out of the room, insisting that she get some sleep and a little nourishment if possible. There had been protests, arguments, and a fiercely unenthusiastic compromise that Elphaba would try and take a short nap on one of the couches in the main reception area.

Though Elphaba fought off the lure of sleep admirably, everyone could see she was close to exhaustion. Boq assured her that he'd stay and keep watch while Elphaba attempted to sleep. He was grateful that Nanny had been the one to challenge her, because Boq didn't have the stomach for it. Forcing Elphaba to do anything against her will was like trying to shift a boulder off of a mountain. And with Glinda at the center of her every concern, you may as well try shifting the mountain itself.

Weak sunlight had managed to creep in through the room's frosted windows, softening the hard, clinical character of the white-washed walls surrounding them. Faint noise could be heard in the halls outside or coming from the other occupied beds. Boq tried reading from his agricultural studies and failed to notice the slight stirring of the hand on the bed-sheets beside him.

The softest of sighs escaped her lips; her eyes slowly opened.

Oblivious to her movements or her quiet breath of consciousness, Boq remained seated and bent over his textbook, close to dozing off. It must have taken Glinda a moment to focus on the tired young man beside her, for when he was nearly on the verge of sleep, a faint whisper of his name was heard in her tired, trembling voice. "Boq?"

Boq's eyes suddenly snapped open. He turned his head and looked up. When he saw Glinda staring at him with a weary yet lucid expression, it was as though his heart had suddenly learned how to beat again.

He scraped his chair up close to her bed in a swift and fluid movement, quickly catching her hand in his with an earnest, rapturous expression. "Glinda," he said with a glowing smile, unable to contain his joy. He felt as if he could laugh and cry, so strong were his emotions. "Hey! Nice to see you again."

It was amazing how brilliantly her eyes could sparkle in spite of the fever that had plagued her. A faint smile graced her bloodless lips, and Boq's heart fluttered all over again. He lifted a hand to rest on her forehead, smoothing her hair with his fingertips. It was an intimacy he had never dared to attempt since their long forgotten afternoon together, somewhere on the shores of Neverdale.

"You look tired," she said in a rasping whisper, weakly pressing his hand. "Dearest Boq… have you been here long?"

He smiled at her, in love as he was, and slowly shook his head. "Not long," he said with earnest affection. "Not very long at all. How are you feeling?"

"Wonderful," she said with a brighter smile, "and probably much better than I look."

Boq gave a short and quiet laugh that made him look utterly handsome. "Oh now, Miss Glinda, when have you ever ceased to be anything other than perfectly beautiful?"

A hint of sadness touched her features. "I wasn't when I hurt you."

Her confession was overly unexpected, and left him at a loss for words. He looked down and noticed her fingers were pressing on the scars where his stitches had been. A well of love rose up in his breast so painful that he almost couldn't bear it. He looked at her again with a sad expression. There was so much honesty and genuine concern in the timid blue of her eyes.

"Don't worry about that," he said sincerely. "I'm a Munchkinlander through and through; we're built of sturdy stuff."

"Even so," she softly replied, "could you forgive me just the same?"

Boq didn't need to say the words. His eyes said everything for him. He pressed a kiss against her hand where his tears had already fallen.

The pair cherished this moment together, bereft of anything else. They stared at each other with mutual affection and something close to gratitude. Even if his love was forever unrequited, it was sweet and valued all the same. A clear ray of sunlight touched on the bed and lit up their clasping hands.

Glinda eventually brought her hand up and pressed it against Boq's cheek. Her thumb grazed the slope of his chin, and she whispered, "Where is Elphaba?"

Boq was about to motion to the door when he looked up and saw Elphaba standing there. Had she heard them talking, or did Elphie instinctively realize that life was brought back to her friend?

Glinda turned and saw her waiting fretfully near the door. Their eyes met from across the room, and in them were all things unspoken. To say what either could possibly have felt is most assuredly unknown. But at that moment, comparable to any other, Glinda was finally whole.


	13. History Rewritten

History Rewritten

"_Can there be a higher desire than to change the world? (…)_

_To revise the misshapen, reshape the mistaken, to justify the margins of this_

_ragged error of a universe?"_

Wicked, p. 183

* * *

Glinda recovered much more quickly than anyone could have anticipated. Once the fever finally broke, it was all the incentive her body needed to rapidly begin mending. Her cheerful disposition surely helped to facilitate the healing along. She was lively and spirited — a stunning portrait of her former, more amiable self.

Her friends were thrilled and a little surprised to see the transformation. They'd gathered together near her bedside as soon as they'd learned of the news. Nanny and Nessarose were happiest to see her, though the boys were equally as elated. Crope and Tibbett flooded her bed-table with flowers, and Fiyero added his own contribution with a blue Arjikiian orchid.

Elphaba, of course, was the most prominent green fixture that happily adorned her bedside. There was rarely a moment that she wasn't near her, firmly holding her hand.

The infirmary physicians and nursing staff were at a loss to explain how Glinda had survived. After teetering precariously near the brink of death, her recovery was simply unfathomable. She was deemed the building's "living miracle," and those who previously consigned her to death were the most eager to shower her with attention. Many of their kindnesses, however thoughtful they'd been, were largely in thanks to the impromptu arrival of Glinda's ill-tempered father.

He'd taken the earliest train from Frottica and arrived a few hours after Glinda had awoken. The minute he stepped through the infirmary doors, it was clear he wasn't a man to be reckoned with.

"_Where is sh_e?" he hollered, grabbing an orderly roughly by the shirt.

"I'm just an orderly attending, sir!" he'd choked back in fear.

Elphaba and her friends stepped out into the hallway to see what the commotion was about. They were just in time to see Glinda's father holding the orderly by the throat.

"You're a damned idiot," he'd angrily snarled before shoving him away. "Where in the hell is my daughter Galinda? Someone answer me this instant!"

Fiyero and Elphaba exchanged looks with each other. Boq fingered the tie around his neck.

"Her father?" said Crope with a raised eyebrow.

"Good hell, I hope not," muttered Avaric.

"He's very tall," said Shenshen coyly.

"Rather handsome, you mean," Milla teased.

"Nice to see that a spirited disposition runs in the family," added Tibbett. "Who do you think the charming brute is liable to shoot first?"

"Probably Fiyero," said Avaric, grinning. "He does have the look of a raping foreigner."

"If I go down, I'm taking you with me, you sick son-of-a-bitch," he replied.

"What do you know about him, Elphie?" asked Boq.

But Elphaba knew little about Glinda's family, and had nothing to say in reply. It wasn't that Glinda had been unwilling to talk with Elphaba about either of her parents; it was just that Elphaba had never bothered to ask. The subject of family was an unwelcome one, and she'd always done her best to avoid it. But as she observed the striking figure that was charging down the hall, she instantly regretted that she'd never asked Glinda about her father before.

He was a country gentleman; that much was evident. He lacked the smooth and delicate tailoring of the Emerald City classes. But the roughness of his hands and set of his jaw gave him a distinguished masculinity that was pitifully lacking in Oz's society gentlemen. When he arrived at the reception desk and demanded to see his daughter, there wasn't much of the aristocratic touch in his language either. He'd nearly tossed the nurse over her desk when he learned that Glinda was awake and recovering in one of the public rooms.

"A _public_ room?" he'd violently snarled. "Whatever the hell for? Do I _look_ like a pauper? Is my daughter a prostitute? Get her out of that piss-hole this instant before I level this building to the ground!"

The nurse had sternly made it clear that they weren't in the habit of responding to threats. (It should be said, though, that Glinda was moved to a private suite later that day.) Madame Morrible quickly arrived to defuse the situation, adorned with all of her bangles and rings to assert her haughty importance.

He looked just as eager to tear her to pieces, and was wholly unintimidated by her presence.

"Special privileges aren't allotted to _anyone_," she pompously replied. "I can understand your frustrations, Master Arduenna, but poor economic circumstances require more cost-effective considerations for our infirmary residents."

"Are you rationing out your bed pans now?" he sneered with utter disgust. He reached into his coat and pulled out a stack of bills, never taking his eyes off of her. Before Madame Morrible had time to respond, he tossed them down, messily scattering them all over the hardwood floor. "If money is all you vultures require, then feel free to suck me dry."

A filthy entendre. A lack of manners. Elphaba liked him instantly.

His more abrasive qualities were tempered, however, when he was finally admitted into the room to see Glinda. Her face lit up with a smile that was clearly saved for her father only. He took her tightly in his massive arms and rocked her back and forth. The nurse had planned to bathe and redress her, but he simply wouldn't hear of it. No amount of filth or illness would prevent him from holding his little girl.

Elphaba was moved and a little saddened to witness their touching reunion. When Glinda's father leaned back to look at her, there was nothing but pride and joy shining brightly in his eyes. She turned away from the room's entrance, feeling as though she were intruding. Boq joined her a few seconds later, wearing a thoughtful expression.

Glinda's mother was supposedly visiting some acquaintance in Wiccasand Turning. Her father didn't bother to send word with a messenger; he just up and boarded the earliest train. Elphaba guessed that of the two relations, her mother had been largely responsible for Glinda's practiced and refined mannerisms. Her fire and anger were all her father's, including that slightly overbearing sense of reckless determination. But she had to admit that it suited Glinda well. _Particularly in the bedroom_, Elphaba thought with a blush. And if her mother were half so handsome as her father was, there was clearly enough genetic perfection to pass down the line.

When the nurses consented to move Glinda into a private room, they firmly insisted that they be given time to properly bathe and dress her. Everyone waited out in the hall, and her father stood near Glinda's doorway like a tall, menacing sentinel. He barely glanced in Elphaba's direction, or even towards Nessarose. His gaze was fixed on her male companions, passing over every one of them with a fierce, mistrusting eye. He settled eventually on Crope and Tibbett, and his expression turned from stern and accusing to narrow-eyed uncertainty.

"Anyone fixed for tea?" said Nanny, oblivious to all of the tension. "The stuff in here is rather vile. I'd be happy to send some proper stuff up from the Crage Hall kitchens."

"That would be lovely," Milla responded. "We'd be happy to accompany you, Nanny."

The girls followed her out of the building, leaving the boys standing idly in the hall with nervous looks on their faces. Elphaba smirked at their obvious discomfort and tried desperately not to laugh at them.

"I take it you're Miss Elphaba Thropp," said Glinda's father suddenly. She turned and saw him staring at her, frankly and without apology.

"The Third Descending," she candidly replied, hands clasped in front of her.

"Galinda has written about you before," he said with an inquisitive stare. "Her very reluctant roommate from last year. Rather bookish, if I'm not mistaken. Fixed to be the next Eminence of Munchkinland… is that right?"

"Unless green doesn't match the décor of the palace at Colwen Grounds," she stated.

His mouth turned up into something of a smirk. She'd actually managed to impress him.

"If the world doesn't fit you, Miss Elphaba Thropp, then I suggest you _make_ it. Only fools settle for less than what they're capable of getting."

"Words to live by," she said with a smile. "I'll do my best to remember them."

He briefly turned to look down the hallway, then took another step closer to her. "So," he said in a lower voice, "which of these smirking bastards here has been making eyes at my daughter?"

Elphaba couldn't keep a straight face. "Oh, I'd say just about all of them…"

* * *

Glinda's father stayed with her for the remainder of her hospital duration, which wasn't very long. After several days of careful monitoring, the nurses consented to release her under the provision that she get plenty of bed-rest, fluids, and warmth. Nanny assured them that all would be well and she'd take excellent care of Miss Glinda. He thanked her warmly for her kindnesses, particularly after his depressing visit to the bedside of Ama Clutch. Before then, Glinda's father was oblivious to the serious nature of her condition. She was tied down to the bed with cloth restraints and had barely even recognized him.

But his parting words to Glinda were warm and lovingly affectionate; an interesting contrast to the man who had individually threatened the lives of her male companions. Glinda looked pained but slightly relieved to be free of his constant supervision. She kissed his cheek and held him close, grateful he had come to be with her.

To Elphaba, he invoked a solemn promise to keep an eye on Glinda. He wasn't pleased to learn that she'd gone wandering off during the middle of the night. There was never a suitable explanation given, apart from the odds that it was a case of atypical somnambulism. He didn't believe that for a single instant, but there wasn't much left to be done about it.

"Please look after her," he'd muttered quietly, taking Elphaba aside. "My daughter is good at hiding things from me, and I don't know what this is about."

"Believe me, sir," said Elphaba earnestly, "I'm not letting her out of my sight."

He was kind enough to offer her his hand, which Elphaba graciously accepted. "Take care of yourself as well, Miss Thropp. No doubt we'll meet again."

Within the hour after he'd left and before she was set to leave the infirmary, Glinda's friends surprised her by planning a celebration at the Peach and Kidneys. Nanny initially balked at the suggestion of exposing her to all that activity, but her protests were effectively squashed when Nessa insisted they mark the occasion. Wine would be substituted for fruity compotes, and promises were made that Glinda would be back well before her bedtime. Milla and Shenshen even insisted on coming to style her hair and make-up.

Elphaba scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all, even if she was secretly thrilled to see her roommate so happy. There was still a silly part of Glinda that enjoyed the ultra-feminine simplicities of fashion and other fripperies. The girls laughed and prattled on like they'd never been separated at all. Once they were finished, they escorted Glinda out and into the frosty daylight.

Glinda was still very weak, though her complexion was brilliant. Her hair was tied back with a simple ribbon and she looked perfectly stunning. Their friends were gathered on the lawn outside and they greeted her with enthusiastic applause. Crope and Tibbett insisted on taking her arms, and Boq looked excessively annoyed.

"You've had her plenty, you dastardly fiends," said Crope to Elphie and Boq. "Miss Glinda is going to be _our _date tonight. We weren't simultaneously threatened by her father with forcible castration for nothing!"

Glinda blushed and attempted to apologize for her father's brutish behavior, but they laughed it off quite cheerfully in obviously high spirits.

"It might improve our chances to become castratos with the Barissian Opera," Tibbett offered.

They arrived at the Peach and Kidneys at a quarter after five. Glinda was utterly taken aback when she saw a table reserved for their party, covered with small tear drop candles and beautiful orange daylilies. "Don't look at me," said Avaric roguishly when Elphaba shot him a look. He gestured in Crope and Tibbett's direction, and they smiled shamelessly at Elphaba. "Much as I adore Miss Glinda, I don't normally go to such romantic gestures to win the attentions of lady."

"Neither do we," said Tibbett with a wink. "Unless the lady is Miss Glinda."

Yet despite Avaric's rude assurances that he was a heartless rake, he graciously treated their party to an exquisite salver of saffron cream. Crope and Tibbett insisted on sitting on either side of Glinda, vexing Boq to the point of rage with all their flirtations towards her. They spent the evening making her laugh with scandalous remarks and creamy kisses all over her blushing cheeks. When Boq had finally had enough, he slammed his hand on top of the table and started yelling at them both. Milla and Shenshen promptly retaliated by kissing Boq themselves. Fiyero and Avaric laughed at them all, and ordered a round of beer.

When Elphaba attempted to help her sister take a sip of her drink, Nessa insisted she could do it herself and shooed Elphaba away. She grabbed the cup with the front of her teeth and slowly tipped it back. Half of its contents poured into her mouth and the other down her dress. She shrieked when the chill of the liquid touched the most delicate parts of her skin, and Elphaba decided to complete the picture by adding a dollop of cream.

Their table burst into hoots and hollers while Nanny fretted with her dress. They all decided to try it themselves, and soon, the table was a mess.

Glinda laughed with genuine humor and her eyes sparkled brilliantly. It was the first time in far too long that she truly and genuinely seemed happy. Elphaba watched her with a small smile, quietly and hopelessly adoring her. Glinda would occasionally meet her eye with a look that was only for Elphaba.

It was rowdy, boisterous, and a little bit wonderful.

A highly charmed affair.

* * *

Glinda was practically half-asleep by the time they returned to Crage Hall. It was still early, even for a school night, but her weakened condition drained her energy much more quickly than normal. The group walked carefully up the inner staircase with Glinda still favoring her right foot. It was recommended that her sprain stay compressed for at least another week. Elphaba shouldered most of her weight and kept an arm around her.

Boq had gallantly (though drunkenly) offered to carry her up there himself. Elphaba suggested that he try seducing Avaric, then left him outside on the lawn. Shenshen and Milla had already bid them goodnight, heading off in the opposite direction. No doubt they had plans to return to the boys, and _this_ time without a chaperone.

Nanny, Nessa, Elphaba and Glinda headed quietly down the corridor. Glinda leaned heavily against Elphaba's frame, resting her head on her shoulder. Elphaba's hold was firm and strong, though having Glinda pressed against her so closely caused her to tremble a little. She handed her key over to Nanny, and Nanny unlocked their door.

"Here we are!" she said enthusiastically, turning up the lights. "Everything's here, just as you left it. Even those dust balls in the corner. Elphie, why don't you get a fire going while I help our Glindy undress."

"I'll be fine, Nanny," said Glinda with a sigh that sounded more like a yawn. "Just lead me over to the sink, would you dear? I can easily undress myself."

"A fair hope, but I'm not having it. You look like you're ready to fall over."

"Oh, do stop fussing over her, Nanny, and give the girl some room," said Nessa. "She's just a little tired is all, and honestly, who can blame her? Those idiots kept her out too late."

"Yes, just as I'd feared," Nanny sighed. "Well, rinse out your mouth and get dressed for bed, Glindy. I'll fix up your bed in the meantime."

Elphaba walked over to Glinda's dresser and retrieved a warm nightgown from out of the drawer. She held it up to Glinda for approval, and Glinda shrugged her shoulders. "You could wrap me in a burlap sack and I wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"I guess that means I'll have to save you from your weakened sensibilities," Elphaba smirked. She wrapped her arm around Glinda again and walked her over to their washroom. She pushed the door open and lit the gaslights, quickly surveying the interior. Once she was sure that all was well, she turned to Glinda and warmly took her face in both of her hands.

"Will you be alright?" said Elphaba softly.

"Yes," she said, smiling. "Thank you, Elphie."

Elphaba nodded and shut the door to give Glinda her privacy.

Nanny was fluffing the pillows on Glinda's bed and had folded her blankets back. Elphaba was about to tell her that that was unnecessary before she realized the inappropriateness of the comment.

"Heavens to bits," said Nanny, grumbling. "These sheets are all starched and stiff. It must feel like an age since Glinda's been able to sleep in her own bed."

Elphaba didn't know how to respond, so she set to work lighting the fire. It had been well over a month since Glinda had gone anywhere _near_ her bed.

"Elphaba?" Nessa calmly spoke up once the fire was blazing. "Might I have a minute of your time?"

"I doubt it will be a minute."

She smirked cheekily up at her sister, and Nessa lightly shoved her with her foot. They walked out into the empty hallway and shut the door behind them, chiefly to give them privacy and prevent Nanny from listening. Nessa looked down both sides of the corridor, then stepped closer to Elphaba.

"So what did the doctor say?" she asked, getting straight to the particulars.

"Her blood-work is healthy and her vitals looked good. If she takes it easy for the next few weeks, they expect a full recovery."

Nessa slowly nodded her head. "And what about the rest?"

"Nothing," said Elphaba a bit more hesitantly, "at least nothing suspicious. Glinda happens to be slightly anemic, but that's not the same thing as finding foreign poisons floating in her blood."

Her sister pursed her lips together. "So I guess your cure worked then."

It must have been difficult to hide her resentment, but Nessa managed it rather well. When Elphaba told her several days ago about the organic compound, her sister was obviously upset with her, especially when Elphaba mentioned the part where she'd up and left town. But the unsteady truce they had come to since the infirmary forced Nessa to stay her criticisms. All she could do was sigh deeply and grudgingly accept the situation.

"Have you spoken to her about that night?" Nessa quietly continued.

"I haven't had time," said Elphaba flatly. "There's a lot we need to discuss."

"What did she tell her father and the doctors?"

"That she doesn't remember anything."

The door opened and both girls turned just as Nanny appeared behind it. She crept stealthily out into the hall before partially closing the door behind her.

"Bless the little angel," she whispered. "Lurline has given us all a miracle now that our Glinda is home."

"Is she alright?" said Elphaba anxiously, suddenly desperate to see her.

"She's fast asleep. The dear thing couldn't keep her eyes open. Try not to wake her when you go back in, dove. Nessie? Are we ready for bed?"

"Just another minute, Nanny; I'll be in with you shortly. And could you please leave the door ajar so I can let myself back in?"

Nanny kindly obliged her charge and slipped into their bedroom. As soon as the door creaked back on its hinges, Nessa turned to Elphaba again with a far more serious expression.

"So what happens now?" she anxiously asked. "Does Morrible know she's cured?"

Elphaba's jaw clenched in reflex. "I don't know _what_ she knows."

"But you must have a plan. Something has to be done. Morrible is still a danger."

"I _know_ that, Nessa!" she hissed in frustration. "Good hell, do you think I'm stupid?"

Nessa winced at the force of her anger, and her expression became apologetic. "I'm sorry," she said in a quieter voice. "We don't need to discuss this tonight. Go and get some sleep, Elphie. There's a long tomorrow ahead of us." She smiled weakly and kissed Elphaba's cheek before turning back to her room. Elphaba watched her with a heavy heart and a sharp twinge of guilt.

She quietly entered her own bedroom and carefully shut the door. Glinda was sound asleep in her bed, buried beneath several blankets. The firelight played over her tranquil features, highlighting every stunning facet of her perfectly stunning profile. Elphaba desperately wanted to touch her and hold her in her arms. It had been so long... so very long. Her heart ached just at the thought of it. But she would sooner die than wake her again, no matter how great the temptation.

So she grabbed the chair beside her desk and placed it near Glinda's bedside. Elphaba sat silently watching over her, savoring this small moment of calm and knowing that it wouldn't last.

* * *

The inevitable morning that was soon to follow was far less pleasant for Elphaba. Much to her outright shock and confusion, Glinda didn't have an explanation for what had happened the night she'd fled. She remembered nothing beyond the antique bottle and the curious sensation she had experienced upon drinking its milky contents. After that, all was darkness—a muddled fog of imprecise memories and hazy physical impressions. She only _vaguely_ recalled being held by a man in the pale hours before sunrise.

"I'm sorry, Elphaba," she said sincerely. "I don't understand what happened to me. Perhaps it was an effect of the draft— a lapsed but active state of consciousness?"

It seemed a fair conclusion, if not a little odd. What in the hell could Yackle have given her to cause such an unusual side-effect? But a thought more unsettling suddenly occurred to Elphaba, and its implications were fairly devastating.

"You don't remember _anything_?" she asked, her eyes searching Glinda's intensely.

But Glinda only shook her head; a perfect picture of innocence.

Well. That was all that Glinda could say to render Elphaba speechless. Several thoughts were racing through her mind, but she couldn't give voice to any of them. All things considered, what could she say? _You might have missed that small moment where I ravaged you multiple times in my bed? _The very idea was utterly mortifying, and she didn't know how to make sense of it.

Perhaps the most disturbing thought was that Glinda was completely out of her senses when any of this had happened. How was Elphaba supposed to respond to that? What would Glinda do if she told her? Not knowing what had prompted her to wander for hours in a storm was one thing, but to speak unconsciously of desire and love was something entirely different. They had shared so much in those silent hours… more than just a clumsy engagement of mouths, bodies, and hands. Glinda had offered her everything that night, and Elphaba had eagerly accepted it. So how in the name of blessed Lurline could Elphaba _hope_ to convey that to her friend? They had come together in one powerful moment, and Glinda didn't remember a bit of it.

So Elphaba said nothing, believing her silence would ultimately be for the best. But the pain it caused her was beyond comparison and left Elphaba with the uneasy feeling that it was somehow an act of violation. She knew every inch of the girl before her— every detail as fine and intimate as the mole at the base of Glinda's spine. Would Glinda forgive her if she knew what had happened? Would she have been pleased or mortified? If Elphaba could be certain that Glinda's feelings were as genuine as they felt, she could have cheerfully carried on, even if Glinda had forgotten that night. But there was no way of knowing what Glinda felt, or if she even suspected what had happened. All Elphaba could do was silently watch her, pondering everything that they'd lost.

For her part, Glinda carried along as if she were perfectly at ease. She never betrayed a deeper inclination that extended beyond affection for Elphaba. They still walked arm-in-arm together, often with Glinda's head leaning against Elphaba's shoulder. They would laugh and constantly tease each other, but the intensity was gone. Elphaba wondered if she had somehow mistaken fear for searing passion. Dread and terror could appear quite romantic if the circumstances were dire enough. Yet there were times when Elphaba swore she saw something in Glinda's smile. It was only when Elphaba wasn't looking at her, or at least when Glinda _thought_ she wasn't.

But beyond that, it was a companionable friendship steeped in warm formalities. Glinda now slept in her own bed, and Elphaba tried her best to pretend that it didn't deeply wound her.

With their friends, however, Glinda was as lovely and charming as she'd ever been. She smiled at the boys and chatted with the girls, never in dull spirits. Boq's interest was quickly rekindled, and he took every opportunity he had to woo and charm her once again. Glinda hadn't exactly encouraged him, but Elphaba felt like she wasn't doing enough to _discourage_ the boy either.

It was impossible to be cross with her, though. She seemed so carefree and happy. A heavy burden had been removed from her shoulders, and she was finally allowed to breathe safely again. They spent long afternoons at the Rose Gardens in town or other places around Shiz. The boys were always game for fun, and the girls had difficulty keeping up with them.

It wasn't ideal, but Glinda was happy, which was all that mattered in the end. And so, at least for the time being, Elphaba was content.

* * *

But forever at the back of Elphaba's mind was the little matter of Ama Clutch.

Elphaba still had questions about the cure and how it might affect the old woman. Buried inside the depths of her sock drawer was the second bottle Yackle had given her on her visit to Tarkington. She'd examined the contents several times, and was certain it was the same substance that Glinda had been given.

Throughout the duration of Glinda's illness, Elphaba didn't dare to try the cure on Ama Clutch. She still didn't know what properties it contained or the nature of its effects. But when Glinda was given a clean bill of health, there weren't many excuses left for Elphaba to delay the administration. So she visited the infirmary, just like she had on several hundred occasions.

The nurse permitted Elphaba to feed Ama Clutch her breakfast. She had approved of this many times before as Elphaba visited regularly. She thanked the nurse and carried the tray into Ama Clutch's room. She tried to act as nonchalant as her nerves permitted her.

When she was certain that no one else was looking, she mixed the solution into the porridge and ladled it into her Ama's mouth. Glinda mentioned that the draft held a pleasant and inoffensive taste, so Elphaba hoped Ama Clutch would consume it with as little protest as possible. She ate it all without any fuss, and even seemed to enjoy it. After she finished, Elphaba took the tray away and left Ama resting on the bed.

She was grateful the nurses were tying her down. At least there was little chance she could wander off into a pelting rainstorm. She bid farewell to the nurse once more and headed off to her classes.

A day went by. Elphaba waited patiently for word from the infirmary. Some small announcement sent from the staff, letting them know that their minder was improving. But as the days came and went, it soon became evident that something had gone wrong. She wondered if the solution's effects were diluted by the porridge.

A few days later, Elphaba returned after her history lecture. She needed to know what was going on, for better or for worse. When she entered the building, she walked immediately up to the nurse at the front desk. The nurse looked a little shocked to see her, and became very ill at ease.

"This isn't a good time," she said, setting her tea aside. "The dear has become completely incoherent, and her episodes are worse than before."

But Elphaba insisted that she had to see her, so the nurse begrudgingly consented.

They had moved Ama Clutch into an empty room once her crazed hysterics became too much for the infirmary's other patients. It was located in a more isolated area in the darkest section of the building. Elphaba heard cackling and terrible singing as she slowly approached the doorway.

When she finally walked in, she saw Ama Clutch jerking and twisting under the restraints. Her eyes were bulging out of her skull. She was foaming at the corners of her mouth. She turned when she heard Elphaba enter the room, and let out a demented howl.

"Well here's the coroner who's likely come to thoroughly examine her!" she cackled. "Grab a chair then, plucky thing! I'll sing you a little song! But she's not _merely_ dead, sweet nail. Oh, no! We're sure of that! She's really most _sincerely _dead; if that's the way she'll have it!"

"Hello Ama," said Elphaba calmly. "How are you feeling today?"

"You should know, you cunning _bitch_. The secret's in the porridge!" She laughed and twisted in the leather straps as sweat poured down her face. Elphaba stepped a little closer, but kept a careful distance.

"You know what I gave you?" she quietly asked, looking into her eyes.

"Good hell you beast, of course I do! A tasty little milky thrill to get me right and randy! What thoughts for someone as old as mud to be having of Mr. Pillow." She turned and nuzzled the cushion beneath her, damp and stained with her illness. "Oh, the stories these sheets could tell, you naughty little bastard! Whisper more sweet nothings, love, and I'll fluff you good and proper."

"Ama," said Elphaba, embarrassed and frustrated, "_I slipped you a cure in the porridge_."

"_That?"_ she said with hearty laughter. "Oh, that weren't no cure, my dearie. I suspect you've been hoodwinked by a naughty old crone who's flung it all topsy-turvy! But here," said Ama with a clever wink, "I know all her secrets. I saw the world that was meant to be and every wicked wonder. See it here! I even saw _you_ in all your fiendish glory! You kindly fucked the married man and melted straight to the floor!" She started cackling with demented glee, and writhed on top of the blankets. What little flesh was left on her bones was bleeding against the restraints.

"Ama," said Elphaba, turning frantic, "I don't understand what you mean. What on earth has this done to you? Tell me what you've seen."

"The Other Land," she said to the ceiling, smiling with half-crazed horror. "A grim window to that other story so nearly like our own. Bawdy stuff, and filled with death. But I think we'll soon forget it. La! And be thankful that _you'll _never see it, Miss Wicked Witch of the West!"

Elphaba was at a loss for words. Her fear and confusion were palpable. "You're not poisoned," she said stupidly.

"Oh, I'm poisoned all right. Hexes, curses, clockworks and compounds… bless it, they're all the same."

"I don't _understand_," said Elphaba helplessly, holding her head in her hands.

"I don't suppose you will," she sighed, craning her neck at angle. "It's not your story anymore, my dear. The floods have passed you by."

"Story?" said Elphaba. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said, you villain. It all belongs to _her _this time... the Mad old Witch of the North. But what will they call _you_ now, Miss Elphie? What of the wonderful Wicked Witch that never is or was? My pretty nail hopes that you'll save him for a very noble purpose. Rebuild it all with bolts and bricks and mortar most refined! Lead on, lead on till the bastards burn and the sun declares to rise!

"But it's all the same for little old me, my green and lovely Elphaba. I'm going to die in either story, so hell… go out and celebrate."

Ama Clutch was still giggling, but tears were running down her face. Her eyes were hollow—completely vacant. There was nothing of the old woman left.

Elphaba didn't know what to say. Her blood had suddenly turned colder. She slowly pressed her Ama's hand, then carefully let go of it.

She turned and began walking out of the room, too frightened and unnerved to look back. All the while the laughter continued, wracked with occasional sobs. "DING DONG!" her Ama shouted. "THE WICKED WITCH IS DEAD!" Elphaba passed through the narrow doorway, and a tall shadow drifted near her.

She turned abruptly and saw Madame Morrible standing beside the door. The Headmistress smiled down at Elphaba, and her neck ballooned like a fish. "And here's Miss Elphaba," said Morrible lightly. "My dear, you don't disappoint. How kind of you to check up on your favorite invalid, now that Miss Glinda has recovered."

Elphaba's gaze formed into ice, hot and cool all once. "You think you've won," she whispered coldly, "but I know you're sadistic game. And you're not going to get away with it, Madame. I can promise you that."

Morrible dropped all forms of pretense as her face twisted into a grimace. She cracked the knuckles of her right hand in front of her by grasping them tightly together. "Do you know what your problem is, Miss Elphaba? You can never see the bigger picture. You're tied up in details so small and insignificant that you can't see the scope of the masterpiece. Nothing is ever quite as simple as you'd like to believe it to be. This world isn't shades of black and white, Elphaba. Sometimes it's deathly _green_."

Her painted lips puckered slightly, just as she lifted her chin. Morrible turned and walked away from Elphaba with Ama Clutch's screams to accompany her.

* * *

"I think we should leave," said Elphaba nervously, pacing the floor near their beds. The clock on their mantle chimed the hour, and Elphaba was growing anxious. Her recent meeting with Ama Clutch and Morrible had put her into a dreadful state. She worried her fingers tightly together as she quickly continued to pace.

Glinda was stretched out on the chaise lounge near the fire, quietly engrossed with a sorcery book. She was unusually devoted to her studies of late, and failed to notice Elphaba's demeanor.

"Mmmm?" said Glinda without looking up. "Did you want to go down to the buttery?"

"Not that," said Elphaba, entirely distracted. "I mean leave this place _entirely_."

Glinda smirked while casually turning another page in her book. "Bored on a Wednesday evening, darling? That's not like the Elphie I know. Aren't you meant to be studying something that's very important and dull?"

"We can't stay here," Elphaba insisted, less to Glinda than to herself.

"We can if I trap you, which I've obviously done in my weak and helpless condition. Poor Elphie… you must be going stir-crazy. Would you like to go for a walk? I should really take you out on the town, but I must confess that I don't feel like sharing you with anyone else at the moment."

"Glinda," said Elphaba with mounting frustration. "We can't stay _here_... at this school…in this town. It's not safe for us here anymore." She turned away and started pacing again while sliding her fingers together. "Morrible is planning something… I know it. I can _feel_ it. And I won't be calm until we've gone and left this place for good."

Glinda set her book aside, giving Elphaba her full attention. "You want to leave Shiz?" she calmly asked, folding her arms on the back of the chaise and resting her chin on top of them.

"It's the only way we'll be safe," said Elphaba. "I want to leave tonight."

"I think you're being serious," said Glinda.

"I think I am as well," she replied.

Glinda studied her with a thoughtful expression, then straightened up on the cushions. "You're upset. I can see that. Come here and sit with me. Let's talk about this, Elphaba."

Elphaba obeyed and sat down beside her. Glinda took her hand.

"I've been thinking about the Emerald City as a possible alternative," said Elphaba. "We could take a third-class coach to the city— gain an audience with the Wizard."

"The Wizard?"

Elphaba nodded. "I could take Dillamond's research with me. We could travel right up to the palace. We'll meet the great and terrible Wizard and explain everything that's been going on. Murder… intrigue… a school led by corrupted officials… and best of all, proof that Doctor Dillamond's theories might actually have some merit. These are truths he can't ignore. We'll _force_ him to do something about them."

Glinda stared intently at her. "What if he did nothing at all?"

Elphaba regarded her somewhat darkly, her lips curled at the edge. "You think he's that corrupt, my dear?"

Glinda shrugged her shoulders. "You've never thought well of him before, Elphaba. Why would you trust him now?"

"It's not a question of trust, Glinda; it's a question of authority. He has the power to change things in Oz whether I like it or not. If you can't respect a fraudulent leader, you at least have to respect their ability to influence the actions and opinions of others. He could be a formidable foe or a powerful ally, and it's in our best interest to know where he stands."

They sat like that for a moment in silence. Glinda curled up on the chair. "Then what becomes of us?" she said, turning towards the fire. "What if the Wizard ignores your pleas or threatens something worse? Do we just keep running? Do we go into hiding? Do we take up with a band of insurgents?"

"Don't be foolish," said Elphaba tersely, though she wasn't looking at Glinda. "I would _never _endanger you like that."

"I never thought you would, Elphie, but you still haven't answered my question."

"Look," said Elphaba, grasping Glinda's arm. "We'll worry about all of this later. The _important_ thing is that we leave here _now_ while we're still relatively in one piece. It doesn't matter where we go, Glinda; we just have to get the hell out of here."

Glinda's gaze fell to her lap. "What of Ama Clutch?"

Elphaba exhaled and stared into the flames. "She's beyond our ability to help anymore."

"Then what about Nanny and Nessarose? Could you abandon them as well?"

"They'll_ understand_," said Elphaba curtly with much more conviction than she felt.

"Elphie," said Glinda, her voice firm and even, "things aren't as simple as that. Who do you think that Morrible will turn on if you or I were to leave? She would quickly come after our friends and family; she's already done it before. What better way could she possibly hurt us, and you _know_ she would. Leaving now might keep _us_ safe, but it isn't solving our problem."

"Keeping you safe _is_ my problem," Elphaba angrily replied.

"By endangering the lives of others in the process? Elphaba, no one is worth that."

"Well what do you _suggest _we do?" said Elphaba, getting angrier. "Just sit here for the rest of the year while that murderous bitch continues to conspire to ruin both of our lives? It isn't happening! I'd sooner _die._ Hell and Oz, I'd just as soon as poison you myself! I won't live under that woman's shadow, do you hear me? _I won't do it, Glinda."_

Glinda sat back and stared at the flames flickering against the grate. She didn't seem terribly affected by Elphaba's anger. Her mood was much more contemplative.

Considering all that Glinda had been through, Elphaba was actually surprised to find her so indifferent about Madame Morrible. The terrified girl haunted by nightmares had retreated somewhere beneath the surface of her porcelain skin. She realized, perhaps, that she was asking too much of Glinda- at least for the time being. Her friend had just gotten her life back together; why would she ruin it on a whim?

Besides, their Headmistress had yet to make a move, which meant that Glinda could happily carry on in semi-blissful ignorance. Laughing… smiling… and casually entertaining flirtations from Boq and his friends.

Elphaba winced when she caught herself thinking so callous and resentful a thought. _That isn't fair. You're making this personal. So what if she broke your heart?_

Glinda finally turned to look at her, and something in her expression had changed. "I know that, Elphie," she whispered softly, "and I'm not going to ask you to do that. But I do want you to promise me something, because I know you'll keep it."

Elphaba slowly arched an eyebrow. Glinda took her hand again. "Promise me that you won't give up on the people we love and care about."

Elphaba leaned back on the cushions of the chair. "You're asking me to stay."

"I'm asking you to open your eyes and look around you, Elphaba. Everything you've ever wanted is _right here_ in front of you. If you've taught me anything, and you've taught me plenty, it's that there are things in this world worth fighting for. If we start running now, we'll be running forever. Better to stand our ground."

"Are you actually suggesting that we stay at this school and fight this battle head on?"

"I'm saying you can change the world, Elphie, and you don't have to do it alone. You can't trust the Wizard; you've already admitted that. So why not trust someone who is far more deserving?"

Elphaba's lips formed into a snarl, and she flung Glinda's hand away from her. "Oh no you don't," she said with a sneer, getting up off the seat. "I know _exactly_ where this is going, Glinda, and we are _not_ going to have this argument!"

Glinda stood up and reached for her hand, gently pulling her closer. "We're not arguing," she softly replied. "I'm just asking you a question."

"Did _Boq_ put you up to this?" said Elphaba spitefully. "Did he casually let it slip while he was reading you poetry by moonlight?"

"Boq didn't put me up to anything," said Glinda, refusing to let Elphaba offend her. "I asked because I wanted to know, and I think my question has merit. Our friends have stood by us through thick-and-thin, Elphie— don't they deserve a chance to prove themselves to you?"

Elphaba got right up in Glinda's face, her expression a menacing scowl. "Do you honestly think I'd be willing to jeopardize the lives of _any_ of those fools? Would I ever be able to forgive myself if something horrible were to befall them? I've already lost Dr. Dillamond, Glinda, and that was sufficient enough. Better to ally with twisted men that have no names or faces. The losses that are sure to come are far less painful to deal with."

Glinda regarded her with a mixture of pity and something resembling remorse. "Loss is a part of life, Elphaba. I'm afraid you can't get around that. People live and die each day without ever accomplishing anything. Do you think Dr. Dillamond would have stopped his research if he knew that his life was in danger? Or did he believe that his cause was worthy of something greater than himself? If sacrifice is inevitable, Elphaba, then why can't we turn this tragedy into something that's actually meaningful?"

She took Elphaba's face in her hands, willing Elphaba to look at her. "This isn't just our battle anymore. Give your friends a chance."

Elphaba bowed her head in distress, unable to fight Glinda's pull. "I can't," said Elphaba, her voice trembling. "I can't do it, Glinda."

Glinda brought them closer together. "Promise me, Elphaba. Say it."

"I love them," she muttered, utterly defeated.

"Then let them love you back."

They looked at each other in the flickering firelight. Elphaba knew she had lost. She breathed deeply and stared down at Glinda. "Alright," she whispered, "I promise."

Glinda's lips turned up at the corners and her eyes glistened with light. She slowly settled against Elphaba's shoulder and wrapped her arms around her. It had been far too long since she'd held her like this, and it was more than Elphaba could handle. She cautiously slipped her arms around Glinda and held her as tight as she dared. Love was a very irksome thing, and she wasn't sure she approved of it.

"It's still early," Elphaba whispered. "We can go for a walk if you'd like."

"Let's just stay in," said Glinda quietly. "It's a little too cold tonight."

* * *

Elphaba was settled under her covers, resting her head in her hands. She was much more tired than she thought she'd be, but still, her mind wandered.

Midnight blue configurations swirled all over the ceiling. She looked for shapes or intricate patterns within the splotches of paint. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she heard Morrible's words to her, spoken at the infirmary. _You can never see the bigger picture… _

But what was she meant to see?

She traced a line of significant events back to the morning of Dillamond's murder. But no… no. She had to go further. Further back than she'd cared to look before this mess had started.

From her earliest moments of doubt and reasoning, she'd watched the world turning around her like a giant broken mechanism. Faces, religions, and governments were lies, cloaked in shadows and conspiracies. She set herself apart from them all, believing that the furthest distance would give her the greatest perspective. And yet, perhaps her mistrusting nature had actually narrowed her vision. Was she so determined to see the storm that she missed the winds that carried it? How far could fate stretch its hand to alter an entire history?

Elphaba could never sufficiently determine why she had ever been born. Why the teeth, or why the green skin? Had there been a purpose to any of it at all? But there she was, the living aberration, so she tried to make the best of it. She was a girl with ambition, and Shiz was supposed to offer her a path she could happily follow. Anger. Revolution. The spark of rebellion. It was a flame that constantly burned inside her.

But she didn't anticipate the death of seclusion, wrapped in an impression of love.

Elphaba closed her eyes and breathed in the chill winter air. She had promised Glinda that she would stay. She had vowed not to desert their companions. A foolish decision? Certainly. Why not? Elphaba seemed to be full of them lately. But it wasn't a promise she felt she could regret, not after everything that had happened.

_But Madame Morrible… _

Elphaba's fingers clenched in her hair; her teeth ground together. Morrible was the thorn that caused her to bleed, and she didn't know how to stop her. Whatever promises she had made to Glinda, Elphaba couldn't live with the woman hovering over their lives. She was certain that Glinda knew this as well, so what was she expecting her to do about it? Commit a murder? Bludgeon the woman while she slept in her monstrous bed? Hide all their friends in some undisclosed location? It all seemed preposterous.

She could try the police, though recent events had proven that they were an incompetent lot. If Morrible was guilty, there was no reason to suspect that justice would be served accordingly. So for the time being, they were stuck where they were, waiting for the Headmistress to make her next move. It made the night just a little bit longer, and the cold a little bit deeper.

Elphaba's thoughts continued to wander when they were interrupted by a small voice on the other side of the room.

"Elphie?"

"What is it?" said Elphaba, turning over to stare at Glinda's back. She didn't realize her roommate was awake. Glinda hadn't made a sound.

"The room's a little cold tonight," Glinda softly whispered.

Elphaba sighed and climbed out of bed, grabbing the extra blanket on top of her. It was a worn old thing that she'd brought from home, but it happened to be Glinda's favorite. She spread it out over Glinda's body buried beneath the blankets.

"Someday, Miss Glinda, you're going to learn the value of practicality over fashion. Quadlings may weave hideous blankets, but at least they keep you warm."

After smoothing and tucking the corners around her, she turned to head back to her bed. A hand reached up and pressed against hers, keeping Elphaba in place.

"I'm still cold," she said quietly, still not looking at Elphaba.

Elphaba stared at her in silent question, then felt her pulse slightly quicken. She swallowed a lump tightly in her throat, then whispered, "Would you like me to light the fire?"

Glinda slid her fingers through Elphaba's. "Just stay with me tonight."

Elphaba nodded and lifted the covers, climbing in next to Glinda. It was much warmer than her own bed had been, but Elphaba wasn't going to argue about it. This was a luxury she had too keenly missed; a joy she'd long been deprived of. Her arms were around Glinda before she could stop herself, and Glinda turned into them instantly. She shivered as Elphaba held her closer, almost as if she were crying.

But Elphaba never felt the sting of tears against her neck. She only felt the warm hands and measured breaths of her friend. Their hearts were beating together once more, and the sensation was entirely overwhelming. Elphaba closed her eyes and smiled.

Maybe there was hope after all.

* * *

It was a cold but cloudless winter's day near the end of the semester. The students at Shiz were readying for the holidays, marked by the usual tomfoolery that tended to accompany the winter interlude.

Every year, the campus would descend on the southern provinces for the richly spectacular Festival of Lights. They would ride down in carriages to the beautiful villages lit up with the colors of Lurlinemas. It was an opportunity to shop, dance, and delight in the endless reserves of mulled wine. Everyone on campus had planned on attending, and dozens of carriages had been ordered.

Elphaba and Nanny were preparing for the excursion up in Nessa's room. They were bundling her up in several layers, much to Nessa's vexation.

"You've trussed me up like a goose," she complained, scowling up at Elphaba.

"You'll thank me when the temperature drops and you turn into a self-righteous popsicle. Nanny, pass me that scarf, will you? I think we should also bundle her mouth."

"Oh, ha, ha," said Nessa sarcastically. "I can still _kick_ you, you know."

"I'll keep that in mind when I'm lacing your boots," said Elphaba, smiling devilishly.

Nanny was still fussing around the room, gathering every layer of clothing she could think to wrap around Nessa. "Oh Nanny, please don't bother with that hat," said Nessa with a sigh. "The wool is itchy and makes my ears red. Glinda bought me a nicer one in that hatbox over in the corner."

"This one?" said Nanny, lifting the lid and pulling a beautiful mink cloche out. "Gracious Lurline, how much did this _cost_?"

"How would I know?" said Nessa, blushing. "What a tacky thing to ask. And speak of the devil, where _is_ Glinda? Isn't she supposed to be getting ready?"

"She's with Shenshen and Milla," said Elphaba flatly, kneeling down to tie Nessa's boots. "No doubt they're powdering and dressing in gowns that are wholly impractical for the weather. But she said she'll meet us down at the gate as soon as the carriages get here."

"I'm surprised she's agreed to all of this foolishness, what with the weather so cold," said Nanny.

"Glinda's health is fine, Nanny. She's tired of being cooped up behind doors."

"Well she didn't look all that hearty this morning when that horrible little tick-tock device dropped off that letter for her. The girl looked so pale and deathly sick, I thought she was going to faint."

Elphaba quickly turned and looked up at her. "What? Do you mean Grommetik?"

Nanny came over and placed the mink hat on top of Nessa's head. "Is that what it's called? The noisy machine that Morrible keeps as a pet? How abnormal. But yes— it wheeled up and gave her the note before we went down to breakfast."

"What did it say?" Nessa cut in, staring down at Elphaba.

"I'm not sure. She looked rather nervy, but she smiled when I approached her. 'Just some family business,' she'd said, but Lurline, was she ever pale. I tell you poppies, that awful little machine gets me all varieties of spooked."

"Nanny," said Elphaba, getting to her feet, "would you mind finishing with Nessa? I'm going to go out and find Glinda."

"Why don't I save you the trouble?" said a voice cheerfully through the doorway.

Everyone turned as Glinda entered the room, curtsying with informal grace. She was dressed in a beautiful forest-green cape with white fur for the trim. "Sorry if I'm intruding, but you left the door open and I decided to invite myself in. Oh Nessarose! You have more layers than a Gillikinese wedding cake! What on earth have they done to you?"

"Thank you, Glinda," said Nessa irritably. "I've been complaining for over an hour."

"Well better to have you grumbling now than when you freeze much later!" said Nanny.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Glinda smiled. "The bonfires should keep her warm. Is everyone ready? Boq and Avaric are waiting down by the carriages."

"Wonderful," said Nessa, stalking towards the door with Nanny rushing behind her.

"Hold on!" said Nanny, trying to catch up with her. "You forgot your other scarf!"

Glinda chuckled and turned to Elphaba, reaching to take her hand. "Shall we, my dear?"

"After you," she replied, gladly taking her arm.

They followed Nanny and Nessa out, lingering a short distance behind. Elphaba casually brought up the note, but Glinda didn't seem overly concerned about it. "It was just a letter from mother. That's all. She was mad with worry when she found out the business of my recent illness. I'm sure father made matters worse by neglecting to write to her immediately."

"Do they quarrel often?" Elphaba asked.

"Whenever they get the opportunity. How they love and adore each other is quite literally beyond me at times."

"Perhaps it's because they compliment each other," said Elphaba with a smile.

"Yes," said Glinda. "Perhaps it is. One can never tell."

They didn't say anything else to each other as they walked outside towards the gate. Students and Amas were wandering about in every different direction. Carriages were already lined up at the curb, decorated with holly and tinsel. They found Avaric and Boq at the front and waved their hands cheerfully in greeting.

Avaric quickly hopped to the door and opened it up for Nessa.

"Ready to brave the fierce Gillikin wilderness?" he said, observing her layers.

"Master Avaric," said Nessa curtly, "I would be grateful if you'd just shut up." He grinned cheekily as he helped her in, and his hands lingered a bit too long on Nessa's slender torso. Nanny was following close behind and shot him a reproving look.

"I'll take it from here, you wicked upstart," she huffed while climbing in.

Avaric tried his best to look innocent. "Just being a gentleman, m'lady."

Boq was about to walk over to Glinda when Avaric grabbed him by the tie. "No time for gallantry," he said in a rush before shoving him into the carriage. "We're wasting enough time already, so hop to it, man!"

"Dammit Avaric!" yelled Boq from within. "You shoved me on Nessa's lap!"

"You can thank me later," said Avaric merrily. "Miss Elphie? Miss Glinda? Who's next?"

"No thank you, Avaric," said Glinda, smiling. "I'm catching a different coach."

"You're not coming with us?" said Elphaba suddenly, turning towards her in shock.

"I promised Shenshen that I'd go with her and try and smooth things over with Pfannee."

Elphaba hadn't anticipated this event, and her features formed into a scowl. "Oh come on, Glinda— you've got to be joking. Why would you go and abandon me for the idiocies of that mincing harlot? Do you think I can bear the ride with these fools without tossing them out of a window?"

"I honestly expected you to congratulate me," said Glinda. "Haven't you always said that I should try to be the better person?"

"Better doesn't equal irrational. You're entirely too forbearing."

"And you're being cynical," said Glinda reproachfully. "Everyone deserves a second chance. Just look at me, Elphie— where would I be if you'd never forgiven me for my cruelties?"

"The Pink Dormitories?" Elphaba quipped. "Forced to endure the tartish company of sixteen obnoxiously chattering girls along with my miserably green self?"

Glinda clasped a hand to her chest, suddenly looking serious. "Gracious Elphaba... what a tragedy! And pink goes so _splendidly_ with green."

Elphaba tried to glare at her, but she ended up laughing instead. It was just the sort of ridiculous comment that Glinda could get away with. Glinda joined in, laughing prettily as she adjusted Elphaba's scarf.

"Now quit being so grumpy," she said primly, folding it into an attractive knot. "You'll have Boq and the others to keep you company, and plenty of windows to throw them out of should the occasion call for it." She stood back and looked at Elphaba's figure, nodding as if in approval. "There…you look wonderful! And I _know_ the journey will be far more pleasant than you think."

"Maybe," said Elphaba with a wry sort of smile. "But it won't be the same without you."

Glinda's smile twitched at the corner. Something in her gaze grew distant. She stared at Elphaba with a curious expression that was beautiful and almost tragic. But the greater emotion her friend might have felt was lost in the depthless blue of her eyes. Like everything else, it passed by in an instant before it was fully realized.

She reached up and touched Elphaba's cheek with her hand, brushing her thumb against it. The world slowed to a quiet rhythm, matching the pulse under her skin. Before Elphaba knew what was happening, Glinda leaned up and pressed them together, warmly and ardently kissing her. Her lips were soft and every bit as sweet as Elphaba had remembered them.

There weren't many words that could accurately describe what Elphaba felt at that moment. It was the same abyss, the same oblivion they had willingly found together. If ever she wavered from her convictions that she truly lacked a soul, it was at that moment when Glinda held her beneath the setting sun. Something stirred deep inside of her that was more than flesh and blood. She felt it grasping, clenching, and embracing everything in heart.

Glinda pulled back, but kept Elphaba near, still holding her face in her hands. Their foreheads touched, and Glinda murmured, "Hold out if you can." She kissed her again more softly this time, then whispered, "Hold out, my sweet."

Elphaba was speechless, motionless, breathless. She gazed down at Glinda in wonder. For a long moment, nothing else existed.

It might have lasted forever.

Avaric indelicately cleared his throat, eventually breaking the spell. Elphaba turned, a bit out of her senses, then looked back down at Glinda. Glinda smiled and pressed her hands softly before gently letting them go. She took a few steps back from Elphaba, never taking her eyes off her.

Helplessly devoid of thoughts or words, Elphaba hesitantly turned and staggered back in the direction of the carriage. Avaric was waiting next to the door, a look of triumph on his face. There was a definite twinkle in his hazel eyes, and an approving smile on his lips.

"_Miss Elphaba_," he said with perfect grace, and offered to help her in.

Elphaba smacked his hand away as she climbed up into the carriage. Everyone inside refused to look at each other, which added to the uncomfortable silence. Boq stared stonily out of the window, and Nessa looked perfectly irritated. She rolled her eyes and shook her head when Elphaba sat down beside her. Avaric climbed in and squished next to Boq, playfully wrapping an arm around him. He grinned at his friend with handsome teeth, and Boq looked like he wanted to murder him.

Nanny sighed and took out her knitting, clearly fed up by it all. "I don't see what any of you are chuffed about," she said, matter-of-factly. "Those two have been hard for it since _I _can remember, and probably a good deal before."

But Elphaba wasn't paying attention to Nanny or anyone else for that matter. She was staring out of the back window, watching Glinda's small figure as it faded off in the distance.


	14. Glinda the Good

Glinda the Good

_Was the Kumbric Witch interfering with or accomplishing the ordained __fate of the beasts? _

_(…) Any way you looked at it, there was the syncretism of myth, __myth's happy appetite to engorge on narrative strains._

_(…) Maybe the Witch wasn't feeding the drenched animal, but killing it? __Sacrificing it to stay the floods?_

Wicked, p. 160-161

* * *

"So there we were— standing at the edge of the Finglade's fishing pond— as naked as the day we were born and completely soaked to our skins. Boq had foolishly hung our clothes on a hornwood tree nearby, right where a band of trolling Monarchs managed to get their beaks on them."

"No," said Nanny in absolute shock, knitting a little faster.

"They don't want to hear this, Avaric," said Boq with obvious irritation.

"Would you shut up, Nancy? I'm telling a story, and you're spoiling the best part. Now, our mutual friend Smithee gets this brilliant idea to run up to the manor house to see if the servants had left any clothes out on the line to dry. A rather sensible idea in light of the circumstances. It was rounding four o'clock, after all. Anyway, since Boq was the ass who lost our clothes in the first place, it only seemed fair that he be the one to run up to the house to raid the laundry line."

"Scandalous," said Nessa with arch disapproval, though she was visibly sitting up straighter.

"Must you tell this ridiculous story every opportunity you get?" Boq fumed.

"Of course I must, my darling chuck. Now quit your whining before I pull your trousers off and give these ladies a visual aid."

"Oh, no you don't," said Nanny sternly. "We're not going to have a sordid peep-show in the back of this carriage."

"Sordid is a splendid choice of words, Miss Nanny. Nude little Boq was a sordid sight. He went running up the grounds to the manor and of course we had to follow him. It was bound to be a laugh. We hid ourselves behind some hopsberry bushes and watched him charge up the hill. He most assuredly found a clothesline… right in front of the parlor window where dear Lady Finglade was hosting a soirée with the ladies of the Emerald Art Society. Can you imagine the looks on their faces when they caught sight of a pale pink Munchkin streaking across their lawn?"

Nanny erupted into a fit of laughter. Nessa's mouth became pinched. Boq was blushing a crimson red and had turned to stare out the window.

"But that's not the best part," said Avaric, scooting closer and resting an arm on his thigh. "Boq missed one of the hanging dress shirts and grabbed a pink sundress instead. The fool was scrambling to put it over his head, right when Lord Finglade came walking around the corner with his enormous bull mastiff—"

"Enough, Avaric!" yelled Boq in anger. "Lurline, we've heard enough!"

"My dear chap!" said Avaric, astonished. "I thought you looked rather _becoming_ in a sundress!"

"Give it a rest, Avaric," said Elphaba. "We're nearly there, and I think we could all do without the visual of Boq exposing himself in _any _setting, be it public or private."

"Oh,_ do_ forgive me, Elphie," said Avaric, looking wholly penitent. "How should you like to pass the time instead? We could discuss the finer points of the weather, or perhaps you'd care to enlighten the group on the remarkable dexterity of Miss Glinda's tongue—"

"That's _enough,_ Avaric," said Nessa, exasperated. "Gracious heaven and Oz below, can we please talk of something _civilized_ for a change?"

"I thought I was being perfectly civil," said Avaric with a grin.

"You're a perfect bastard," muttered Boq.

"Oh stop it, darling; how can you be so cross? Fall semester is practically over and we're going to the festival to get sloshed! How's this… we'll find you a lovely young girl that's every bit as charming as the insatiable Miss Glinda. We'll even make sure that she_ isn't_ partial to snogging the stuffing out of ill-tempered florae."

"One more word," said Elphaba dangerously, pointing her finger at him, "one more word out of your mouth, Avaric, and I'll hex you into a meat grinder. You spent all my patience the moment you stepped into this Oz-forsaken carriage. If you think Lord Finglade's mastiff was frightening, you haven't seen _anything_ yet."

"Hexing," said Nanny with a cheerful snort. "My Elphie thinks she's a witch."

"And what if I am?" said Elphaba darkly. "You'd be surprised what I'm capable of, Nanny."

"Playing with sorcery?" said Nessa coolly. "Is this _another_ secret you've hidden?"

"You don't spend hundreds upon thousands of hours studying the subject without developing an _interest,_" said Elphaba. "I've learned more practical theory on the subject to set me for several lifetimes. But it _is_ rather curious in its own twisted right; perhaps it's time to make a change to my curriculum for the upcoming semester? One thing's for certain: I won't be attending _any_ of Nikidik's lectures again."

"Ha!" said Avaric with a spirited laugh. "Elphie as a conjuring sorceress. What a perfect image to complete the day, capped off with this glorious weather. What do you think, old Master Boq? Does the image appeal to you as well?" But Boq chose to ignore the group and continued to stare out of the window.

For all of her apathy to his unrequited affections, Elphaba felt guilty for wounding him. She might have offered a comforting sentiment had she been able to expend much thought beyond her own remarkable situation. The image of Glinda still burned in her mind; simultaneously warming and unsettling her. She wished that Glinda had come with them. Even now, Elphaba missed her.

She pictured Glinda sitting by the window, laughing at Avaric's stupid stories while holding Elphaba's hand. Boq would be trying to win her attentions, and Glinda would graciously let him. Nessa would still be annoyed with everyone and Nanny would say something outrageous. Elphaba would be admiring Glinda's beauty, but _only _when Glinda wasn't watching. She smirked when she thought of her friend's stunning figure and the maddening kiss they had shared. Glinda certainly had a number of talents, and turning the senses to mush was one of them. How had Boq described it before? Didn't he call it 'spectacular?' A pitiful understatement, but then Boq never was the most articulate Munchkin she'd known. Besides, Elphaba would prefer to spend a lifetime forming her _own_ conclusions. Why be satisfied with guesswork and theories when you could put your studies into frequent application?

But somewhere at the back of her mind, Elphaba's ardor was tempered with a cautious, even troubled hesitation. Frankly, Elphaba couldn't believe how painfully devoted she'd become to Glinda. Even in spite of their recent distance, she was every bit as hopelessly undone as the day Glinda first called her beautiful. She was so haughty back then—so conceited and cruel. Beautiful, willful, and angry. Glinda was everything that Elphaba hated… or _told _herself that she did. Vanity, ignorance, artifice and privilege, wrapped in the luxuries of the world. Oh, how Elphaba had come to _crave_ unwrapping each of those layers.

In place of vanity, she'd found humility; a meek and timid young girl. Ignorance was an anguished burden of fears that were mistaken for failures and frustrations. Artifice masked a sweet vulnerability that was buried beneath money and privilege. The flawless beauty of gentle features was nothing in comparison to the striking beauty of a loving, grateful heart.

Elphaba glanced out of the window and watched the world passing by. If only time could be captured and held; if only you could embrace a moment. A quiet moment between two friends that had changed their lives completely, turning them both into curious lovers in the most unlikely of circumstances. Her father had said that love wasn't blind—something she'd never forgot. But if love could see everything, both perfect and damaged, why couldn't she see Glinda's heart?

The carriage came to a leisurely stop at the curb of Carthings' Square. Hundreds of students were gathered around, chattering and laughing while they searched for their friends. "Finally," said Nessa with a grumbled moan as she leaned back on the seat. "Another minute bundled up in this heat and I'm sure I'd have passed out."

"Goodness, Miss Nessa, you should have said something," said Avaric, looking concerned. "I'd have been _happy_ to remove your garments if that would have made you more comfortable."

Nanny whacked him smartly with her handbag and told him to open the door. "Come on then, you cheeky despot. Nessie needs some air!"

They filed one by one out of the carriage with Nessa the last to be escorted out. The square was bustling with noise and laughter outside of the Cathedral of St. Carthings. The streetlamps were lit and music was playing along the main thoroughfare. Local vendors were already out, attempting to entice the crowds towards their substandard holiday merchandise.

After several minutes of aimless wandering, they successfully located their friends. Avaric discovered them an instant before Fiyero saw them approaching. The Vinkus Prince smiled handsomely and turned in the opposite direction.

"Here they are!" Fiyero shouted into the bustling crowd.

Elphaba looked over and saw Tibbett heading towards them, holding three cups of port. "Blessed Lurline and all of her saints, our heroes have finally arrived!" he hollered.

"We were beginning to think you weren't going to make it," Fiyero cheerfully replied. "These two have been whining for the past twenty minutes— what took you so long to get here?" His eyebrow quirked up at Nessa's approach, and he smiled at her bundled figure. "Or perhaps you've already answered my question?"

"_Very_ funny," said Nessarose.

"Ladies will be ladies, Fiyero, and we mustn't rush them," said Avaric. "Of course, Miss Glinda and dear Miss Elphie did insist on a _long_ goodbye."

"A long good-what?" asked Crope inquisitively.

"Of the physical variety," Avaric grinned.

Crope and Tibbett looked at Elphaba in astonishment. She scowled back in response. Nessa shook her head in obvious frustration while Fiyero tried not to blush. The boys quickly glanced over at Boq with the same stunned expression. They found him looking both cross and sullen. It was all the confirmation they needed.

They burst into a fit of uproarious laughter that seemed in danger of choking them. "Lurline indeed!" said Crope smartly. "The things we miss when we travel with the gents!"

"Perhaps Miss Elphie would care to favor us with a repeat performance?" said Tibbett.

"Oh, shut up, the lot of you," said Elphaba, vexed. "Don't try my patience any further. I've already made plans to stuff this idiot into the nearest meat-grinder."

"Can you put that on hold, Elphie dearest?" said Crope with his arm around Avaric. "We'd prefer him fully intact for the evening, especially once we hit the breweries."

"So," said Fiyero, clearing his throat, "are we ready to finally be off, then?"

"Well we can't leave _yet!_" said Nessa bossily. "We're still waiting for Glinda and the others."

"Glinda?" said Tibbett with a curious look. "I thought she was staying home?"

"She said she was taking a different coach with Milla, Pfannee, and Shenshen," said Elphaba. "The girls wanted an opportunity to _talk_, so we may be waiting a while."

"What are you talking about?" said Crope strangely. "The girls are already here. They arrived early— sometime after twelve. We're meeting them out by the gate."

Elphaba studied him with a quizzical expression. "What? That isn't possible."

"We've already seen them," Tibbett replied. "Pfannee, Milla, and Shenshen? They made arrangements to leave Shiz early in one of their family carriages. Shenshen's cousin is up for a visit, so they wanted to make a day of it. Didn't Glinda tell you this? The girls invited her to go with them."

"But…" said Elphaba, suddenly confused, "that doesn't make any sense. They spent the afternoon together… she was traveling with her friends..."

"Maybe she changed her mind," said Fiyero. "Maybe she wasn't feeling well."

"You're not _listening_, Fiyero... if Glinda was sick_,_ then why did she tell me that she was _going _with them? She was dressed for the weather and told me straight-forward that she would be traveling with Pfannee and Shenshen! She did this a minute before I stepped onto the carriage with Boq, Avaric and Nessa. Why would she lie to me? Why go through the whole ludicrous _production_ of doing it?"

"To deceive us..." said Nessa in a startled whisper.

Elphaba quickly looked down at her, her eyes narrowing in menace. "_What_ did you say?"

Nessa became pensive and stared up at Elphaba with an odd, anxious expression. "She did it to deceive us… or better, to deceive you. She staged it all on purpose. If Glinda told you she was going to stay home, she knew that you would have stayed with her."

"But why should she _care_?" Elphaba snarled. "Why would she _want _to be—"

…_alone?_

Elphaba stopped before she could finish the thought. She nearly choked on the word. The rusted gears in her mind started turning, matching the clanking rhythm of her heart. The walls of her stomach turned instantly to lead, and the breath in her throat became caught. Her gaze traveled over each of her friends in frenzied, silent panic.

"Elphaba?" said Boq, taking a step forward. "Why would Glinda lie to you?"

Elphaba started shaking her head. "No," she whispered in the grips of terror. "_No… no_… _no!_"

She shouldered roughly past their group, scanning the crowds around her. Faces and figures swirled into her vision, and she had difficulty concentrating on any of them. "Elphaba!" her friends called out in unison, but Elphaba refused to hear them. _Where were they? Where were they?_ She fought her way through the throng. The jovial music still played through the streets in a comical, mocking manner. She ran past a vendor and knocked his cart over, scattering trinkets all over the ground.

"Hey!" he shouted with a violent curse. "Get back here, you sick-skinned maniac!"

"Whare are they!" she frantically yelled, not bothering to look back at him.

Hundreds of eyes turned in her direction, blurring together in a sea of madness. Arms, skirts, bodies, and beasts swarmed like a plague upon her. She scrambled through them with charged determination, finally catching sight of Pfannee standing near the gate. She was chattering with a small group of friends that had just arrived by carriage. Milla and Shenshen were there as well, but there was no sign of Glinda. Elphaba growled like a wild animal as she reached out for Pfannee in an instant.

Her fingers caught hold of one of her arms, and she violently spun her around. "_WHERE IS GLINDA_?" Elphaba shouted, roughly pulling her closer.

"What on earth are you _doing?_" cried Pfannee. "Let go of me, you terror!"

Elphaba's fingers clamped down her face, squeezing it in a vice-like grip. Pfannee shrieked in obvious pain as Elphaba's fingers dug into her skin. _"_Answer me, you stupid_ wretch! _Tell me or I _swear_ I'll kill you!"

"Elphaba! Elphaba!" Milla cried, grasping Elphaba's arm. "Let go of her! Please! Please don't hurt her! She doesn't know anything, I swear it! We haven't seen Glinda all afternoon! I promise she isn't here!"

Elphaba turned to Milla in a daze, not entirely understanding her. "You don't know anything," she spoke hoarsely. "She said she was going with you! She held my face and kissed me goodbye. She said… that Pfannee…"

Shenshen took a frightened step backwards, as far from Elphaba as possible. "We came here alone, Elphie. We invited her to come, but she said she was staying home."

Elphaba stared at them, uncomprehending. Her features twisted in agony. "She's alone," she whimpered, turning to Pfannee and slackening her grip on her face. "She lied to me. She lied to us all. And I left her… I left her... I…"

_No._

Elphaba turned and staggered away as if in a drunken stupor. "I've got to get back," she stammered thickly. "I've got to get back to Crage Hall!"

She turned to one of the nearest carriages and grasped the cape of the driver. "Take me back to the school," she shouted, "and ride as fast as you can!"

"Elphie?" said Milla, timidly approaching. "What's wrong? Tell us what's wrong!"

"There's no time," Elphaba choked. "I don't have time to explain…"

"Elphaba! Elphaba!" came a voice from the crowd, rushed and out of breath. She turned and saw Nessa barreling forward, clumsily making her way through the masses. She was desperately trying to catch up to her sister and was being careless in the process. Elphaba tried to ignore her cries and turned to climb into the carriage. She heard a horrific sounding _crack_ and a raised gasp from the crowd.

She spun around and saw Nessarose lying face-first on the ground. Elphaba watched her for an eternal second, bleeding above the pavement. She looked into the carriage and back down at Nessa.

She made up her mind that instant.

Elphaba hopped off the carriage step and rushed over to her sister. Nessa was squirming awkwardly on the ground as a few Munchkin girls tried to help her. Her nose was bleeding as well as her mouth; her front was covered in mud. Elphaba grabbed her firmly by the torso and moved her away from the crowd.

"Come on," she hissed, guiding her over towards the waiting carriage. She shoved her in and climbed up behind her, shutting the doors just as quickly.

"Go!" Elphaba shouted, leaning out of the window and smacking her fist on the ceiling.

The horses pulled out and took off at a run back towards Shiz University.

* * *

The frigid air from a passing storm froze the scene of pearlfruit trees across the campus grounds. Faint whispers from the moaning wind carried over the empty courtyard, high above the buildings. The scene was as timeless as an oil painting where branches and boughs were rendered motionless, lacking the strength of a breeze to disturb them. The pull was more gentle—almost imperceptible. She walked through the colors of winter's calm, the echo of her footfalls striking the pavement.

The grounds were deserted. No sign of student or chattering minder was left to be found. Glinda was alone in the frozen landscape, lost in the absence of sound. Her gaze was set, her features were calm, and she walked with a surety of step. She knew the path and where it would lead her, born by the gentle wind.

Within her mind, Glinda recalled a lifetime of visions and memories. Truths that were woven and carefully revealed to her within the space of her dreams. She had seen it all in the grips of her fever, induced by the bottle's cunning secrets. There was the Other Land of Oz, a perfect likeness of the world she'd known cast under clouds of darkness. It was the death of justice, hope and friends—as well as the death of her heart. All set high in a castle's tower far in the Vinkus desert.

But revelation was a curious thing, for all of its truths and providence. As creatures of fate, of thought, and agency… could anything ever be certain? She looked at the stars high above, shining weakly in the sky. There was nothing in them that held her to fate or spoke to her of destiny. Only the veil of time and eternity imparted her with its truths. Whether her heart could willingly accept them was another matter entirely.

Glinda eventually arrived at the steps of the empty Crage Hall building. She was standing far on the western side where the wind was moaning fiercest. She coolly stepped up and pulled back the door, quietly entering the foyer. All around her was absolute silence. The clock on the wall showed the hour. Glinda remembered standing here before, just in the alcove nearby. She had been waiting for Elphaba, as she always was, continually studying the clock on the wall and fearing the passage of time.

Elphaba… Elphaba... Where was she now? Had her carriage arrived in the provinces? It wounded Glinda to have to think of her, but she wasn't going to deny herself the luxury. There was so little time and so much in her heart that she longed to feel and remember. Soft green hands… a beautiful smile… a portrait of love's perfection. Would Elphaba forgive her for the lies she had spoken? Maybe. Perhaps she wouldn't. A necessary evil was still evil in name if not in the intention.

But even if regret was all that they had, Glinda would gladly accept it. She breathed in deeply and walked down the hall on a path long remembered. Her footsteps echoed across the corridor, jarring the surrounding silence. She turned a corner, then turned another, following the course in her mind.

At last, she arrived in an ill-lit hallway with a familiar cellar door. Elphaba's voice had led her here once.

No one was leading her now.

She opened the door. She turned up the gaslights. Everything became illuminated. The small wooden staircase that led into the cellar, stacked with dust-covered crates. Step by step, she slowly descended into the thrumming inferno. The air was warm, but hardly comforting. Glinda preferred the cold.

The room was more alive than ever, pulsing under the nearby furnaces in an almost agitated manner. The hum from the air ducts reverberated through the walls, sending tiny volts of current throughout her entire body. She was walking slowly, heading for the wall straight at the back of the room. Further and further she carried herself into the sinister, silent womb. Her even breathing betrayed little to nothing of her rapidly beating heart, nor did it hinder her steady gait as she cautiously approached the wall. It stood just as cold and perfectly callous as Glinda once remembered it— every stone a glistening fang grimacing at her presence.

She placed her hands on the rough stone wall, sliding her fingers against it. Her movements were certain, calm, and exacting— much like a clockwork mechanism. The voice that had beckoned her here once before was a distant whisper in the dark. She could hear its breathless siren's song, forever beckoning her forward.

Her fingers eventually brushed across the plane of a sharp, jutting stone. It was hardly noticeable to the naked eye, only slightly more raised than the others. Glinda studied it for a silent moment, outlining its shape with her fingers. She pressed against it with the flat of her palm.

The stones suddenly shifted.

It began with a soft scraping sound, followed by a loud creak. The wall pivoted on a hidden apparatus, revolving in a winding motion. Glinda took a cautious step back to avoid the turning panel. She wasn't startled by this strange development; rather, she'd been expecting it.

When the stones eventually came to a stop, they revealed a dark and shallow passage hidden beyond the room. It could only have been a few feet deep as Glinda could barely make out a staircase that spiraled up into the building. She stepped warily into the whispering darkness, cautiously climbing over stones and steps along the uneven floor. A lamp was hanging on a nearby hook right at the foot of the staircase. She quickly lit it with trembling fingers, watching it slowly spark to life and surround her in a dim white glow. Glinda looked up at the winding stairway, then cautiously began moving forward.

One by one, slowly and steadily, she made her way up the stairs. Her footsteps were measured, hardly audible. The pulse in her veins was a thrum. The stairs were very narrow and steep—twisting ever higher up into the blinding darkness. The further she climbed, the deeper it grew, pulling her into a claustrophobic stream of menacing shapes and shadows. Her breath was faster, much less even. The air turned her blood to ice.

It was unclear how far she had ascended; it seemed to be an eternity. She must have climbed several stories of the building; the stairs were practically endless. But a chill eventually crept into the air, which had noticeably become thinner. The scurrying of rats was heard in the walls. Glinda knew she was close.

In confirmation to her heightened senses, the stairway came to an end. The light of her lantern rested upon a door of solid oak. Glinda stood timidly before it, willing herself to take the next step. She closed her eyes and reached for the handle, pushing it open with a loud, groaning creak.

The door swung in and revealed the interior of a small round room. There was a desk in the center and shelves along the wall. There weren't any windows to be seen. Scattered along the shelves and tables were bottles of various substances. Chemicals and compounds… solvents and elements. It was a small, make-shift laboratory. Stacks of codes and papers were filed neatly on top of the shelves. Curious instruments of a more sinister nature hung loosely on the walls. Disturbingly enough, Glinda discovered bloodstains spattered across the desk. This room obviously served a number of purposes, and each was more gruesome than the last.

But perhaps the most disturbing thing was that Glinda knew she was no longer alone. The shadow that crossed her vision confirmed it as the door was pushed back even further.

"I really should congratulate you," said a chilling voice behind her. "It takes a frightful sort of stubbornness to seek the Devil's lair."

Glinda didn't need to turn. She knew it was Madame Morrible.

The door creaked back on rusted hinges and thudded against the wall. A rustling of fabric could be heard in the silence along with the sharp click of a heel. Were it possible, the room might have dropped several degrees in temperature. Glinda remained as still as a statue, her heart pounding in her breast. Her head tilted just to the side as she continued to examine the surrounding bottles.

"I admire that courage," Morrible continued, "however misplaced it may be. Are you truly suicidal, my dear? Insane as the others have suggested? Certainly you must have guessed that the fires of hell would await you here."

"It's not the fires I fear," said Glinda, her voice above a whisper. "Just the demon that sleeps beneath them and the fury to follow when it awakes."

Morrible laughed with gruesome humor and stepped further into the room. "Ah, Miss Glinda… my dear Miss Glinda… how I've underestimated you. I knew you had talent, that much was clear, but I _never_ would have guessed that such a flitty little society girl was in possession of half a brain. The mistake is mine, and I shall own it completely. Quite the failing on my part. But the wonderful thing about mistakes, dear girl, is that we are privileged to _learn_ from them. I may have misjudged you once before, but I won't be doing it again."

Another moment of silence passed. Neither had moved any further.

"My Ama is dead," said Glinda faintly, less of a question than a statement.

"Your Ama is dead," Morrible replied. "A very sad business, that. She was such an ornery and obstinate old thing. Be glad she was put out of her misery."

"Am I to infer that you finally killed her?"

"More like she succumbed to her madness. It was very disgusting… very messy. The details would most likely sicken you. But I'm rather surprised that you and Miss Elphaba didn't stop by to bid her farewell. Little Grommetik readily assured me that he delivered the news this morning."

"I never told Elphaba," said Glinda emotionlessly. "She didn't know our Ama was dying."

"Indeed?" said Morrible, slightly amused. "And why, pray tell, did you hide it from her? I'm curious as to what you thought that might accomplish. The girl has been watching her die for _months_. Miss Elphaba knew well that this was coming—she guessed it long before you did. Why cheat her out of those last few moments of a sad, saccharine farewell? Or do you mistakenly believe I'm ignorant of everything that the pair of you have been up to?"

Glinda finally turned to look at her. Morrible smiled thinly. "Miss Elphaba knows that your Ama was poisoned. She knows that I did it myself. I dare say she also knows _why_ I did it, though I never would have suspected either of you coming to that conclusion yourselves. I was certain that _you_ would be far too stupid and gullible to credit me for the task. But no… no. There was something _stranger_ at work in that pretty little skull of yours. A rather curious intelligence, really, if not just a little bit foolish. I watched your behavior… your reluctance… your fear… right after the old Goat's death. You were frightened of me. You were frightened of everyone. I knew that something was wrong.

"So I asked myself, 'Does this girl suspect me? Could she actually guess what I've done?' The idea seemed so utterly preposterous, yet my instincts told me otherwise. But it wasn't until that day in the hall that I was _sure _you knew more than I could ever have imagined. I don't know _how_ you pieced it all together, but it was evident nonetheless.

"You see," said Morrible in a darker tone, "you left the light on in the cellar. No one goes down there… no one but me. This place is quite hidden. There are old towers in the Crage Hall building that no one cares to think about. They're the perfect place to conduct a crime, or perhaps commit a murder." Her smile became a little sinister, and she tilted her head to the side. "What did you intend upon discovering my little secret? You never found the hidden passage— not that time, at least. But still, you were obviously playing at something; you and that darling little roommate of yours. Sneaking around the campus grounds… breaking into buildings. You really should try harder to cover your tracks, Miss Glinda. There was _glaring_ evidence that someone had been rummaging through Dr. Dillamond's storage cabinets. Was it you who braved the scene of the crime in all of your courageous stupidity? Or was that Miss Elphaba, flailing along in her _pathetic_ crusade to thwart me?"

She took another step into the room. Glinda visibly shrank back.

"Such clever little girls," said Morrible, "as devious as the day is long. From there on out I watched you like a hawk, convinced that the easiest way to subdue you was by suggesting you'd gone insane. Your friends were certainly quick to believe it; your queer behavior made it simple. Rather ingenious on my part, don't you think? What a shame I never thought of it before."

Glinda continued to retreat into the room before her back brushed up against the wall. "You never poisoned me," she stammered.

"Of course I didn't, you fool. That wasn't to come until _much_, much later… most likely after your Ama's death. They say that tragedy softens the soul and makes a willing victim of us all. You see," Morrible grinned, "I've always had a plan for you—you and the remarkable Thropp sisters. For years I have served to inspire those students who possess great powers and abilities, but to discover _so much_ talent as yours… well! Just think of the possibilities! Can you imagine what could be done with the three of you serving our great and glorious Wizard? Oz would become the ultimate empire—no one would _dare_ to resist us!"

The fire of her words gleamed in her eyes, turning them an ominous grey. They were the eyes of a carp in the depths of a lake: small, bright, and unblinking. Glinda watched her with sickening dread, a rough wave of illness washing over her.

"Is that all this is?" said Glinda, revolted. "Everything we feared about you? Art and lies—turned and corrupted within this very room? You murdered Dillamond with your tick-tock device…you poisoned Ama Clutch with your vile organic compound… all this just to seize hold of our fates and convince us that you were all-powerful?"

"My dear," said Morrible in an almost patronizing voice, "you're going to find that in this life, _nothing_ is ever what it seems. With a little artifice and a careful smile, you can convince almost anyone of anything. Why, just look at you: standing before me with a defiant look in your eye. With that lovely smile and that pretty little face, you could have Oz eating out of your hand. It's all in the intent— how far you're willing to go to carry such a cunning deception. Much like you convinced your noble headmistress that you were an ignorant, dim-witted girl. _That_ is talent, my dear Miss Glinda. _That _is something to strive for. And now," she said, brandishing a pistol in the palm of her right hand, "it's time to decide what to do with you."

Glinda looked down at the slim silver barrel, aimed directly at her heart. Morrible held up a small red bottle, firmly corked at the top.

"I hold in my hand a small dosage of the Extract of Biological Suggestion," said Morrible. "It isn't enough to kill you, Miss Glinda, but it's enough to set you on whichever path I choose to lead you on. Your thoughts become mine. Your will is surrendered. You'll carry on in blissful ignorance. And if you choose _not _to drink the bottle's contents, I'm going to point this gun at your head and blow your brains to hell. Now, I know what you're thinking: 'Could she be serious? Does she really mean to kill me?' Well let me assure you, Miss Glinda Arduenna, that it isn't the first time I've spilled blood before, nor will it be the last. I have no reservations about putting this bullet straight through your pretty little skull. The crime is without witness. I can lock this door and let you rot here till kingdom come. All it would take is a single word from you: a resounding "yes" or "no." There you have it. Am I not merciful? Is that not the very _definition _of a forgiving, charitable heart? The decision is yours; I leave you to it. What will be your choice?"

Glinda looked down at the small red bottle and a shiver ran up her spine. "If I drink that, what becomes of my friends? Do you mean to turn us on Oz?"

"I mean to make you _great_, Miss Glinda. Can't you see the glory that I'm offering you? You'll become adepts to the Wizard himself, positioned around the three corners of Oz as spies in a magnificent campaign! You can't imagine the fame that awaits you… the jewels, the gowns, the palaces. Oz will love you as their great benefactress. They'll call you 'Glinda the Good.'"

Glinda was visibly shaking now. Tears were glistening in her eyes. "And Elphaba?" she asked in a trembling voice.

Morrible's lips quirked up. "She has her own purpose to serve… one that is _very_ important."

"I won't let you hurt her," Glinda stammered, suddenly stepping forward.

"Really?" said Morrible with a ferocious grin as she pressed the gun against Glinda's throat.

Glinda went stiff and froze on the spot as the barrel pushed deep in her skin. She coldly locked eyes with Madame Morrible as a tear fell down her check. The Headmistress towered over her like the fearsome Angel of Death, ready to provide the swiftest killing stroke with the edge of her sharpened scythe.

"Will you stop me, Glinda?" she muttered dangerously. "Do you think you're strong enough? Elphaba may have given you courage, but without her you are _helpless_."

"I love her," said Glinda, her voice a tearful whimper.

Morrible smiled cruelly.

"Of course you do," she whispered soothingly. "Of course you do, sweet girl. You want your darling Elphaba to be happy— to live her life to the fullest."

Glinda's pulse gradually became slower. "Yes," she quietly whispered.

"And you want her to reach her full potential; to become everything that she was _meant _to be…and more…"

"Yes," Glinda whispered again. Her breath was becoming steadier.

Morrible nodded with erroneous compassion and stroked Glinda's cheek with her hand. "And if you love her, as you say you do, wouldn't you do anything… _anything_ you could to give her that blissful ending?"

"Yes," said Glinda, firm and resilient. Her gaze was evenly set.

The headmistress slowly held up the bottle in front of Glinda's face. Glinda took it with steady fingers, the glass warm in her hand. She looked back up at Madame Morrible.

A _slam_ was heard behind them.

Morrible spun around in an instant, pointing the gun at the doorway.

The door was shut. No one was in the room. All around them was silence

"Who's there?" she called in a menacing voice, swiftly moving towards the entrance. She reached for the handle and tried to turn it. The old brass keyhole was locked.

"What in blazes?" she hissed in confusion, trying the handle several times. The door could only be locked from the interior. Who on earth could have shut it?

"It's just a simple spell," said Glinda, her voice dissonantly calm. "I've had time to learn and perfect it. Miss Greyling would be so proud."

Morrible turned and narrowly observed her with one hand still on the handle. "What in the name of Oz are you talking about?"

Glinda thinly smiled. "Oh, don't you know? I have a _talent _for sorcery. I'm actually rather gifted. But for this…" she said as she held out her hand over the different chemicals on the table. One by one, the bottles rose up across the stacks and the shelves. They drifted near the figure of Madame Morrible, who watched with an incredulous expression. Then, in an instant, they exploded in a shower of glass and foul-smelling solvents. Morrible shrieked and covered her face as they sprayed all over her dress.

"I never could manage that levitation spell," said Glinda with a sigh.

"You sick little_ fool!"_ cried Morrible with a snarl as the chemicals burned her flesh. She struggled to wipe them off of her arms along with the shards of glass. "Do you have any idea how _dangerous_ that was_?_ I swear I'm going to—"

But she stopped.

Glinda was standing above the spill, holding the lantern in her hand. Her arm was raised above her shoulder which bled from the shattered glass.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed. Their gazes were locked on each other.

"Glinda," said Morrible all too carefully, "what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm telling the story," said Glinda calmly. "I am its author, after all."

Morrible quickly raised her gun, but Glinda held the lantern even higher. "Do it, Madame. Pull the trigger. I'm going to encourage you. Do you trust yourself to shoot that gun, hoping the small spark from the powder won't ignite the chemicals on your hands? Or do you hope that the bullet will kill me and prevent me from dropping this lantern? My grip is weak. My arm is tired. I can't hold it for long. Either way, my dear Madame Morrible, you're not going to leave this room."

The intensity of her gaze matched the steel of her words. Morrible knew she was serious.

"Glinda," she said as she tightened her grip on the gun's bone-white handle. "You don't want to do anything foolish here. Let's discuss this rationally—"

"You would have destroyed her," said Glinda quietly. "You would have destroyed us all. She never would have been free of you, Madame, no matter how far she ran. You would have taken her love, her hope, and eventually even her sanity. Oz's fate would rest in the hands of devils, liars, and charlatans. I can't allow that, Madame Morrible. Her faith will not be deterred. I won't allow you to murder everything that I so deeply love about her."

Morrible's forehead was beginning to sweat. The pistol in her hand was shaking. "Listen to me, girl," she muttered darkly, "I don't know what evil you're speaking of—"

"The world is evil, my dear Madame Morrible, and we are its finest creations. Spun from a tragedy that waits to devour this cursed Oz we live in."

"What do you_ want?_" said Morrible panicking. "Let's be reasonable about this! You want to leave Shiz? Fine! It's done! You can pack your bags tonight! You want Miss Elphaba to leave here with you? Perfect! Amity is yours! Just open that door and walk out of this room and I'll grant you _whatever _you desire."

"What do I want?" said Glinda with a smile that never reached her eyes. "I want you to watch as the veil draws back and history is rewritten. The dragon is stirring, Madame Morrible; it's finally ready to awaken. Soon, these dreams will all be over, and nothing will remain but our sins."

Silence followed her impassive remark; the light in her eyes waxed dim. The seconds that passed were as long as a lifetime, ticking beneath her skin.

"Glinda," said Morrible in a strangled whisper as her finger tensed on the trigger.

"Look," said Glinda, as calm as the grave. "It is only death."

A silent tear rolled down her cheek, catching just under her chin.

Morrible lunged for her in an instant.

The lantern smashed to the ground.

* * *

A moment of sharp, searing heat and a deep inhalation of fire. Soul meeting flesh in a brilliant dance that spun the flames surrounding her. It was light and darkness and a pain so real that it consumed every sensation. But soon it amended in the full awakening of the spirit's transformation.

She thought she heard Madame Morrible screaming, but then, it could be her laughter. Madness became clarity. Clarity became truth. And truth was the refiner's fire.

A ring of expectant faces appeared, just as the light seared her vision. The flames rose up and framed each figure as they stretched and scalded the skin. There was mama in her beautiful gown, waiting at the foot of the stairs. And there was papa, lifting her in his arms and covering her with tobacco-scented kisses.

There was Ama Musser and Ama Wynn; minders that came and went. They were quickly joined by Ama Clutch, who was cheerful and freely content. Temen waited near the tree by the river, winding across the glen. His skin looked perfect, beautiful and whole. His smile was as bright as the sun.

And there was Boq, charming and handsome if not just a little too small. Crope and Tibbett, Avaric and Fiyero, Milla and Pfannee and Shenshen. Nanny and Nessarose stood to the side, forming the circle's completion. And most of all, there was Elphaba, whose skin was more beautiful than a city of emeralds… holding a heart that was greater than all of the empires of the world.

The Land of Oz became a wonder that entranced the imagination. It was strange and colorful, weird but beautiful. A place for children to believe in. Within its memory, legends were woven on the thread of a narrative's strain. Glinda's story would soon be over, but Elphaba's was only beginning.

And as history succumbed to the refining fire that engulfed the ground where she stood, she smiled in triumph; her victory wrought.

She was Glinda the Good.

* * *

The carriage thundered along the streets with the clatter of wheels and hooves. It tore across the university district masked in a cloud of fog. The journey back had taken less time than when they'd arrived in the provinces, but to Elphaba it felt like they were traveling through the haze of a never-ending nightmare.

She had relieved Nessarose of her coats and scarves for which Nessa was profoundly grateful. Her nose had stopped bleeding some time earlier, but the cut on her lip was still swollen. Elphaba treated her wounds with gentle if not distracted care, all the while damning herself for being so hopelessly blind.

She'd left her alone. She'd left her _alone_. How could she have been so careless? Her instincts and reasoning were going to kill her under the strain of her fears. Nessa had desperately tried to assure her that everything would be alright, but it was obvious that she couldn't say the words with even a modicum of believability.

They smelled the smoke before they saw it, rising up in the distance. Nessa was the first to notice it as Elphaba was still dressing her lip.

"Elphaba…" her sister whispered in pure, horrified shock. Elphaba looked up into wide, startled eyes, then turned and glanced out the window.

A strange orange glow surrounded the campus under a blanket of smoke. It was difficult to see beyond the knotted trees that lined the outside wall. Voices were shouting off in the distance near a group of empty fire wagons. It must have been every cart and carrier within the university district.

The sensation in Elphaba's breast leapt from shock to raw, unfathomable terror. She slid over the seat and grasped the window with hot, trembling fingers.

There was a fire somewhere on the campus grounds. It was destroying one of the buildings. Elphaba watched with unparalleled horror, still uncomprehending. It was the moment she sensed that her world had come crashing down violently on top of her. Whatever had happened or however it had started, she knew that Glinda was involved in it.

The carriage driver slowed to a stop some distance behind a barricade. Firemen and policemen were scattered across the campus grounds, blocking traffic and shouting for everyone to stay a far distance back. They were running a hose and pump through the gate down to the Suicide Canal. It looked too flimsy and far too feeble to make any sort of am impact.

The campus building was going to burn.

Nothing was going to stop it.

Elphaba was out of the carriage in and instant and took off at a run. Her heart was pounding like a hammer in her breast; she was screaming murder into the night. But when she passed the trees that had blocked her already clouded vision, it all became dreadfully real…

… A horror too sublime for fiction.

High above in the western tower of the soaring Crage Hall building, white hot flames of a blazing fire were quickly devouring everything. They sparked in a glorious conflagration, searing the stars in the heavens. The fire smoldered like the roaring thunder, or even the howl of a dragon.

Elphaba fell to her knees on the ground, staring helplessly at the flames. The inferno engulfed the face of the building; the firemen couldn't contain it. She felt her sister's body beside her, curling around her frame. But Nessarose had no arms to hold her. It was a pitiful, clumsy embrace.

The blackened smoke rose up into the clouds, blinding the stars from her sight.

But perhaps that was only the painful sting of tears that burned her eyes.

* * *

_A/N: *gasps* Is this the end? Not quite, dear readers…not quite. We've one more chapter left to go before this story finds an ending. Look for the update sometime next week as I don't intend to keep you waiting. It took me a year to finish this animal, and I hope you've had as much fun reading it as I've had writing it. _=D

_First and foremost, I wanted to say thank you to everyone that's been following along with this story. I'm incredibly flattered that my disturbed little mind could amuse and interest so many of you... particularly those in random countries that I've never been to before. Hello people in Germany and Singapore! Hello people in Brazil! Hello to everyone that lives overseas and is reading my American filth! _

_I'm especially grateful to all of my readers who have taken the time to leave me feedback. I seriously would love to marry you all if that were humanly possible. Your words and your comments have been so encouraging, and they've helped me to learn and become a better writer with every passing day. I adore you all so very much and am grateful you've managed to stick with me. _=)

_My gratitude also extends to the tarts from the gelphie_lovers LJ community. You kids are just an absolute riot and I love the stuffing out of you. _

_I would also be incredibly remiss if I didn't thank my lovely beta, the irreplaceable Miss Navona. She has sifted through 100,000+ words of crazy, fixing all of my grammatical errors and slapping me around when things stopped making sense. I highly recommend her services to anyone and would also recommend her brilliant stories to those looking for some well-written fiction. Much love to you, Miss Navona. I couldn't have done it without you. _

_And last (but certainly never least) I'd like to thank Messers Baum and Maguire for giving us the Land of Oz with so many beautiful characters. I own nothing myself, apart from Temen, but I'm glad they were willing to share with me._

_When I started this story, I wasn't sure if I'd actually be able to make it work. I had this idea spinning around in my head, but there was always the question of whether or not I could do it sufficient justice. Did I succeed? Was it an absolute failure? I'd love to hear your thoughts. Tell me if you hated it. Tell me if you loved it. Don't hold back any punches. _

_If you still have questions, wait till the end. Not all truths have been revealed. But some truths must remain a mystery, as that is the nature of stories. *wink*_


	15. Epilogue: The Beginning and the End

Epilogue: 

The Beginning and the End

"_If we can't comprehend the plan at hand, how can a higher plan __make any more sense?_

_But _were_ I to believe in martyrdom, I suppose I'd say you can only be a martyr _

_if you know what you are dying for, and _choose_ it."_

Wicked, p. 254

* * *

_Twenty Years Later…_

"Well, Miss Dorothy, what do you think?"

"Oh!" said Dorothy with profound exhilaration. "I think it's simply wonderful!"

It was indeed a magnificent prospect from her vantage point at the window. Rolling hills of purple heather washed across the sunlit valley of beautiful Old Pastoria. The Munchkin River streamed through the grasslands with crystal-clear grandeur, and the distant horizon was richly dotted with dozens of quaint blue houses. She pressed her face against the glass and gazed out over the fields, watching the farmhands lead their cattle through wide seasoned pastures. "Look!" she said, pointing with her finger. "I think that scarecrow just moved!"

"It appears Miss Dorothy has quite the imagination," said the Prime Minister dryly.

"That would certainly explain how she managed to land her house on top of a church," said Her Eminence. "And would you _please_ kindly gather your animal before he chews my ankle to bits?"

"Oh, don't mind Toto; he's just excited. We've never been on a train before! Not that I can remember, at least, though I suppose it's entirely possible. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em got me when I was just a baby, but I've never left Kansas in my whole entire life—till the twister came, of course. I wonder if trains in Oz are different from the trains we have back home? We don't have talking animals in Kansas, which is really quite a shame. Toto would say such clever things if he were able to talk. He'd probably ask what we were having for dinner, or tell me about Bonnie's cat. Oh! Bonnie's a pretty young girl that lives up the road near our farm. She's very nice, but she hates it when Toto tries to chase her cat. What funny little homes these are! Munchkins are pretty small, aren't they? People say that I'm big for my age, but—"

"_Miss Dorothy_—" said Her Eminence sharply, "we appreciate your enthusiasm, but we still have a ways to go before we arrive at the Pine Barrens Station. You should _try_ to sit back and relax a little before your wear yourself out. Don't they teach little girls in Kansas the intrinsic value of silence?"

"Well, Aunt Em says I could talk the leg off of Mr. Simmonson's horse. But that doesn't make much sense to me. How do you _talk_ a leg off a horse?"

"Well, if anyone could do such a thing, Miss Dorothy, I dare say it would be you. And as for your inquiries regarding trains in Oz, I can't imagine they'd be very different."

Dorothy turned to look out the window and nibbled her biscuit thoughtfully. She fed the rest of it to Toto, who continued to squirm in her arms. "Why do we have to stop at Pine Barrens? Wouldn't it be easier to ride the train all the way into the city?"

"What a clever idea," the Prime Minister teased, "but you can't build railroads overnight, Miss Dorothy. It's taken us years to construct this railway across our state of Munchkinland. Someday the tracks to the city will be finished, but for now, we travel by carriage."

"I guess I don't mind," said Dorothy, sighing. "It's better than having to walk, I suppose."

There was a quiet knock on the cabin door and a gentle call for tea. The Prime Minister politely bid them to enter and the door clicked open immediately. An aging Sloth stood next to a tea cart, wearing a small pink apron. She adjusted her glasses and grabbed the tea pot steaming on the lower shelf.

"What will you have, my noble guests?" she said in a courteous voice.

"Spiced red tea with a slice of lemon. Thank you, Ms. Dibbley," said Her Eminence.

"None for me; thank you, Ms. Dibbley," the Prime Minister smiled. "It upsets my stomach rather horribly every time I travel."

"Very good, your grace. And what about you, dearie? Can I get you something to drink?"

Dorothy primly shook her head. "No thanks. I don't like tea."

"Very well, very well," the Sloth hummed cheerfully, pouring the tea for Her Eminence. They thanked her again which she acknowledged with a bow before she left their cabin.

A welcome silence fell on their party for a brief period of time. Dorothy, for her part, was still trying to get over the curious situation she'd gotten herself into. To have been carried off in a tornado was one thing (and certainly very astonishing), but to land in a place so strange and beautiful was too much for her imagination to take in. The Land of Oz was unlike anything that Dorothy had ever known. The places looked incredible. The food was unbelievable. And the people?

The people were _fascinating_.

"Why are you green?" she suddenly asked, entirely without guile or meanness.

The Eminent Thropp looked down at the girl with a vague and methodical expression. "I ate all my vegetables and refused to have sweets. _This_ is what it did to me."

"Oh, stop it," huffed the Prime Minister smartly. "You're not being funny, _your Eminence._ She already has her head full of whirlwinds and armless Munchkin ambassadors. Why not just tell her you're a _witch_ while you're at it and see how she takes to the news?"

"_A_ _witch_?" said Dorothy, her eyes growing wide.

"Well, more of a sorceress, actually," said Her Eminence.

"But witches are _wicked_ back where I'm from! They're old and mean and ugly!"

"A flattering appraisal, if not entirely warranted, and who's to say I'm not wicked?" She glared at Dorothy with a sinister stare that was far more playful than menacing. But Dorothy looked incredibly unnerved and shifted a bit on the seat.

"Just ignore her, Miss Dorothy," the Prime Minster sighed. "My sister enjoys persuading others that she is the Devil incarnate. The truth is much more pitiable and boring regardless of _what_ she tells you. Our Eminent Sorceress is no more harmful than an ill-tempered cat; grown too lazy to chase the sparrows or remove herself from the carpet."

"If I were cat, I'd be eating your ferns and shredding the curtains in the parlor."

"And _if_ you shredded my curtains, dear sister, Bronson would be serving you in a very watery soup."

The two smirked at each other teasingly as if sharing some inside joke. Dorothy looked from one to the other, a little confused and disturbed. She chose to spend the remainder of the trip quietly staring out of the window, watching the trees and meadows pass by in a bright and colorful blur. She didn't know what to make of Oz or what was left in store for her. But of one thing Dorothy knew for certain: she wasn't in Kansas anymore.

* * *

The Emerald City was gracious enough to appear quite splendid when they arrived. Though the abhorrent palace was as ever an eyesore, Elphaba was charmed nonetheless. Families were walking along the central boulevard where a Bear was playing a jaunty tune on a five-stringed violin. Children clapped their hands with glee and couples danced to the music. An Emerald City officer was idly standing out near the curb, trying to woo a passing beauty who blushed behind her fan. It was late afternoon; the perfect time to go strolling around the city.

"Is that the palace?" Dorothy exclaimed, gazing out of the window. "Oh my! It's very grand, isn't it?"

"It serves its purpose," Elphaba smirked, staring at the building derisively.

"Does a king live there?" Dorothy asked. "Will we get to meet him?"

"No kings, Miss Dorothy; only diplomats. Oz is run by elected officials under the Emerald City Council. My sister, for example, is the appointed emissary of the State of Munchkinland. She represents me and the Munchkin people during regular council negotiations. They meet every quarter or so right here at the Emerald Palace. We've no more need for monarchies."

"Or dictatorships, for that matter," said Nessarose.

"Or theocracies," Elphaba smirked.

The carriage clattered along the streets up to the palace gates. A uniform line of imperial guards stood at the front in formation. The coachman handed their papers to the guard, who checked them very thoroughly. "Make way for the Civil Servants of Munchkinland!" he called to the towers on the wall. Soon, the gates were slowly rolled back, revealing the yellow-brick lane to the courtyard. The coachman pulled the reigns on the horses and the carriage took off for the palace.

"Looks like we're going to be treated to the usual obsequious civilities," mumbled Tora. He was the personal escort to the Civil Prime Minister, and just so happened to be a Silverback Gorilla.

"Manners, Master Tora," Nessarose grinned. "He is a friend, after all."

"Who?" said Dorothy, looking out of the window.

"The great big Lion you see near the steps wearing the royal colors," she replied.

Surely enough as their carriage pulled up right next to the palace curb, they beheld a tall and elegant Lion standing at the foot of the staircase. He was dressed from head to toe in the robes of the Emerald City magistrates. The colors were meant to look regal and splendid, but Elphaba thought they looked ridiculous.

The footman opened the door to the carriage, and the ladies were escorted out.

"Your Eminence," said the Lion very graciously as he bowed low before them. "And Madame Prime Minister, we are honored by your presence. Have you traveled well?"

"The grace of the Unnamed God gives us strength as ever. It's a pleasure to see you again, Sir Brrr; however unfortunate the circumstances. Please allow me to introduce you to our friend, Miss Dorothy Gale. She's the charming young girl who arrived in Munchkinland by way of our recent storm. Miss Dorothy? This is our friend, Sir Brrr: a valiant Lion and comrade. He's a palace representative, and he's going to be your escort for the next couple of days."

Dorothy and the Lion locked eyes on each other. She managed a bashful curtsey.

"Miss Dorothy," he said with a formal bow that was every bit as courteous. "Welcome to the Emerald City. I'm told we've been given the singular task of trying to get you home again."

"I believe that's the general idea," said Elphaba, "though I imagine the council wishes to question the girl on the particulars of her arrival."

"Indeed," said the Lion with a twitch of his whiskers. "Council business as usual. Would any of you ladies care for some refreshment after your lengthy trip?"

"I'm sure Miss Dorothy is excessively famished and would greatly appreciate it," said Nessarose. "Unfortunately I have an appointment with several of the Quadling council members. Can I trust you to see Miss Dorothy situated in a comfortable room, Sir Brrr?"

"Madame," he nodded with noble grace. "I'll send for the porters immediately." He turned to one of the palace courtiers and gave them the instruction.

"Am I staying here?" said Dorothy nervously, looking between Elphaba and Nessarose. "Will either of you be coming with me?"

Nessa attempted to console her. "You'll see me tomorrow at the council assembly when we meet with the senate. We've yet to decide how to get you home, which you know is _very_ important. Don't worry, dear girl; the Emerald attendants will take good care of you. And if you're lucky, maybe Sir Brrr will be kind enough to give you a tour."

But Dorothy remained unsettled at the thought and hugged her dog more tightly. Toto continued to twist in her arms in an effort to be free of her.

"Here, Miss Dorothy," said Tora kindly while taking the young girl's hand. "Why don't we go and look at the fountains along the inner promenade?"

Dorothy sighed and allowed him to lead her over to the magnificent displays. The two sisters watched them with amused expressions, then Nessarose turned to Elphaba. "Will Her Eminence be joining me and the Quadling contingent for a round of tedious dialogues?" she asked.

"Tempting," Elphaba lightly responded. "But I'm afraid I'll have to decline. It wouldn't do to subvert the authority of our very capable Prime Minister."

"I hate you, you know," Nessarose scowled.

"Undoubtedly, my dear. But I fully intend to make it up to you by treating you to dinner at Hastings."

"I'd love to, Elphie, but I promised Shell that I'd accompany him to the Margreave's this evening. Both he and Avaric extended the invitation when they learned of our plans to visit. Don't look at me like that, Elphaba… I never said_ you_ had to come. My guess is that Shell is desperate for money and hopes to charm a coffer out of us."

"Don't give him a cent," Elphaba spat. "He's on tenterhooks with me as it is."

"Yes…which is why I suspect the invitation was addressed to _me_ instead. More's the pity, as they say. Perhaps if the meeting runs long enough I won't have to keep the appointment." Nessa started chucking quietly. "Who would have thought that political negotiations would be the lesser of the two evils?"

Elphaba shrugged and tapped her chin in an affected, histrionic manner. "You _could _forgo all civic formalities and spend your evening with Dorothy."

Nessa let out an audible sigh and looked over at Dorothy's figure. "She's a lovely young girl… really Elphaba, but I think she might be the death of me."

"Funny you should say that," Elphaba cackled, "I've thought much the same thing myself." They watched as Tora lifted her in his arms and Dorothy gleefully yelped. When Elphaba looked over at Nessa again, she noticed her expression was somber. "Nessie?" she said. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Of course," said Nessa, not unpersuasively. "This week's just been a little stressful, is all. The past few days have been very taxing, and I have a lot on my mind. The thought of more meetings has managed to unsettle me and I feel ill-prepared for tomorrow. There's no delicate way to detail the deaths of several hundred Munchkins. No doubt the council will be far more concerned with all of the topsoil the storm obliterated."

"I must be rubbing off on you, dearest. You're starting to sound just like me."

"Were I being _cynical_, I'd probably agree with you, but in this case I'm just being realistic. The older I get, the more convinced I am that corruption can never be wholly eradicated from any form of government. It makes me wish I was back in the Corn Basket, playing with the children in the fields. Do you know there's a group of students there that have perfect attendance at seminary meetings? They used to gather at the church near the mill; the one that was crushed by the house. It was a beautiful building, you would have loved it; a relic from the thirteenth century. It wasn't sturdy, and it was also a bit drafty, but still— it was a special place. Oh heavens, just listen to me… such a sentimental fool. You must be terribly appalled."

Elphaba wrapped her sister in a hug that was sweet and lovingly fierce. "We'll build a new chapel; one that's less drafty and a little bit sturdier than before. Would that make you happy, my dearest Nessie?"

Nessarose smiled warmly. "It just might Elphie, though I'd prefer a hot bath and a tall glass of brandy."

The two sisters laughed as Tora returned with a much more placated Dorothy. Nessa leaned over to kiss Elphaba's cheek, disregarding her normal austerity. "I'll see you back at the townhouse tonight… _if_ you're still awake when I get there."

"Don't count on it," said Elphaba with a wink as she let go of her sister.

Tora stepped over to Nessa's side and prepared to escort her up the staircase. "Till tomorrow, Miss Dorothy," said Nessa graciously with a slight nod of her head. Dorothy bid them a breathless goodbye as she watched them disappear through the entrance.

A porter happened to be standing nearby, trying to make himself useful. Elphaba walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. "Pardon me, lad, but could I trouble you for a favor?"

"Your Eminence," he said with a hasty bow, clearly eager to please.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pencil and a small pad of paper. She scribbled a hasty note on a sheet and folded it quickly in half. "Would you please send this note to Senator Brickbard and tell him 'The Witch' is here?"

He blushed as he took the note out of her hand. "Of course, your Eminence," he replied. She watched as he scampered quickly into the building. Lurline, but she loved to embarrass them.

"I think that does it," came the voice of Sir Brrr, now standing next to Elphaba. "The girl's effects will be taken up to one of the palace's guest suites. Is there anything else you'd like me to attend to?"

"Not that I can think of," she replied. "Just be sure to take care of Miss Dorothy, and try not to eat her if possible."

"Your Eminence," he said with a cunning smile, slightly baring his teeth. "Alright Miss Dorothy: the palace awaits. Are we ready to be off?"

Dorothy nodded and looked up at Elphaba with Toto still in her arms. They stared at each other for a long, quiet moment as if both hadn't made up their minds about the other.

"I guess this is goodbye," said Dorothy.

"I guess it is," replied Elphaba. What a curious feeling to be having all of the sudden. There was actually _sadness_ in her voice.

Dorothy looked equally unsure how to feel, considering all that had happened. "No one will ever believe me when I tell them about this place," she said. "Miniature Munchkins... talking lions… a lady who has no arms. But you might be the strangest person ever. A witch with green skin, that is."

"And?" said Elphaba with an arched eyebrow. "What is your conclusion?"

Dorothy bit her bottom lip as if seriously contemplating the question. "You can be a little scary sometimes, but you're also kind of funny. Toto doesn't bark at you, and he likes to bark at everybody. Your children seem to be very happy, so you must be a really good mommy. I never had a sister myself, but I _think_ your sister likes you. And Munchkinland is a beautiful place, so the people there should love you."

"Hardly," said Elphaba, smirking slightly. "That's a very broad assessment."

"Well," said Dorothy a little more shyly, "I think your skin is pretty."

Elphaba laughed with spirited humor and kindly knelt down beside her. "And you, Miss Dorothy, are one of the _strangest_ little girls I've ever personally encountered."

"Is that bad?" asked Dorothy timidly.

"No, my dear. Not at all. I consider myself most fortunate to have met you. Oz will never be the same."

"It's a lovely place… Oz, I mean. But it's not Kansas, is it?"

"No indeed," Elphaba replied. "I imagine it's nothing like it."

Dorothy looked up at Brrr the Lion, who stood waiting a few feet away. She turned back to Elphaba and plucked up the courage to quickly kiss her cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered to a startled Elphaba. "Thank you for being so kind. Will I ever see you again, do you think?"

"Stranger things have happened, Miss Dorothy. Stranger things have happened."

Dorothy nodded and ran over to the Lion, eagerly taking his paw. Elphaba watched as they walked up the steps before disappearing into the palace.

_Stranger things…_ she said to herself. _And only in the Land of Oz…_

* * *

It was rounding close to a quarter to three on Emerald City time. The customary tide of palace personnel still flooded in and out of the building.

Elphaba was wandering through the botanical gardens on the second story tier. It was a glass-encased shrine to the loveliest horticulture that all of Oz could offer. The spindly blue mink was already in bloom, as was the feather celosia. She admired each stalk and hanging tendril with casual though apathetic interest. It had been quite a while since she'd visited the city, though communications with the palace were a weekly affair. Commerce and other legislative matters extended well beyond the boundaries of Munchkinland. And while Nessarose had readily assured her that she would report to the council herself, Elphaba decided to join her on a whim in taking Dorothy to the palace.

Perhaps it was a hasty desire to distance herself from the carnage. Then again, it could have been nothing more remarkable than curiosity. It wasn't exactly in Elphaba's interest to accompany them both to the palace, yet off she went on a casual jaunt as if it was perfectly natural. Travel _was_ expected of the Eminence as well as her appointed council, but contrary to popular opinion, Elphaba preferred to stay at home. The nomadic life of her early childhood had been replaced with a matured and complacent desire to remain at Colwen Grounds. As changed and remarkable as the Emerald City was, it was still a giant of opulence and pretention that could never completely be liberated. She liked to imagine that this was a parting gift from their shamed and conquered Wizard. Whatever the case, she could never get used to the austerity of this cursed city.

Elphaba continued her walk through the gardens, studying the shoots of pearl millet in contrast with her skin. She had avoided the senators remarkably well…

…with _one_ notable exception.

"And here she is," said a voice from behind, bright and richly familiar. "The Civil Eminence of Munchkinland has consented to grace us with her presence."

She turned around and saw him approaching under a canopy of lace-leaf maples. His hands were clasped behind his back; his shoulders were firm and broad. The portliness of his undersized person lent him a distinguished grace. He walked with a slight limp to his gait from an old wound on his leg. The scar that traced from his brow to his cheek was much more visibly apparent. His hair was stylishly spiky and grey, complementing the maturity of his countenance. He wore the ruffles of an Emerald City Dignitary, and they looked (as always) ridiculous.

"You're looking shorter," she flatly stated.

"You're looking greener," he replied.

They both laughed and embraced each other, completely abandoning formalities. "It's good to see you, Boq," she said. "You're always worth the journey."

"And you, Miss Elphie, are as radiant as ever— spoken without a clever wink or any cheeky impertinence." His smile was equally as sincere as his words, no matter his craft as a politician. "Come… let's take a walk near the balcony. I'm allergic to these almond blossoms, and you don't need a sneezing mess." They walked out of the gardens side-by-side, creating a rather interesting pair for the palace attendants to gawk at.

Elphaba immediately inquired after his health as well as that of his family. Boq filled her in on every detail with his usual, good-natured enthusiasm. He, in turn, was eager to hear all of the particulars surrounding Dorothy. News had been varied and often contradictive since they'd learned of the storm several days ago.

"Does the council suspect Quoxian insurgents of terrorizing Munchkinland with windstorms and little girls?" she mused.

Boq chuckled lightly at the thought. "We're not _that_ gullible, Elphaba. Although to be honest, I think the council might have _welcomed _the idea. I'm sure you've heard that General Farrar has been making some noise about expansion. 'The troops are getting restless,' he says. 'We need to extend our borders.' It's becoming quite the hot-button issue with everyone on the council."

"Expansion," said Elphaba with a hint of disapproval. "Just another word for gluttony. Are they really so keen for recreation and bloodshed that they'd cross the deadly sands to find it?"

"It might be worth it, all things considered, provided we're not invading friendly territories. The arrival of the girl from an unknown country is likely to strengthen these arguments. For all my reservations, I have to admit that the idea sounds intriguing. Just think of it, Elphie; we could actually discover an ocean— just like in the stories."

"A body of saltwater capable of scalding me in an awful, painful instant? Goodness, Boq; what was I thinking? I'll ready the troops myself."

They shook their heads with quiet laughter as they stepped out onto the terrace. It commanded a very spectacular view of the Emerald City streets. The sun was shining brightly overhead, glinting off of the polished surface of the palace gates below. They rested their arms on the balcony's ledge and breathed in the air of the afternoon.

"They said the windstorm was ghastly," said Boq. "How many people were harmed?"

"Too many to count," Elphaba replied. "We lost several villages along the Eastern border. Thankfully the house only flattened a church and didn't take any Munchkins with it. I told Nessarose that if she was just a_ little_ more pious, she'd be a Civil Pancake."

"That's quite a disturbing thought," he said. "Thank goodness you're both alright. Milla and I could scarcely believe it when we heard the news five days ago. We were actually supposed to be visiting friends in Far Applerue this week. She's been nagging me for months on end to take our family to the country. But business put a delay on our plans, and this will only delay them further."

Elphaba shifted on the balcony ledge and planted her palms on top of it. "Are you worried about houses falling on top of you or the just the storms that carry them?"

"Neither," he said with a subtle grin. "Though I'd prefer to avoid both where I can. Right now I'm trapped between border disputes with tribes in the Lesser Kells." He ran a hand wearily over his forehead and slid it back through his hair. "I tell you, Elphaba, these are the days when I'd rather be holding a saber instead of a pen."

"Careful" said Elphaba, smiling wryly. "You're beginning to sound like you're bored."

"I'd crave a little boredom if it meant I was spared from the constant headache of politics. Honestly Elphie- there are days when I wish I'd been cut for a nobler purpose."

"You _are_ noble," said Elphaba, turning serious. "These bastards are lucky to have you. Hasn't Oz been made all the greater with an honest man representing us? Our famed hero of the People's Revolution is now fighting our battles in office."

"I don't feel like a hero," he said a bit distantly. "I still feel like I'm in over my head. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I'd gone into farming as I'd originally planned."

"You were too good, Boq. You had more to offer than a harvest of strangled beets. We don't get heroes very often in Oz, so you shouldn't object to the designation."

"You're one to talk," he said with a grin. "I've never seen anyone more disenchanted with fame than the Civil Eminence herself. The people still talk of your deeds to this day, even if you refuse to listen. Miss Elphaba the Great: our mighty sorceress who drove out the Wizard himself! You're totally ignorant of their love for you, Elphie; Oz would follow you into the depths of hell if you believed it a wise decision. And yet you're content to remain in Munchkinland, parading around with a meaningless title while nursing your ailing father."

"The years have been kind to my father and me," she said with a faraway look. "We've actually learned how to forgive each other, if forgiveness was ever needed. Having his love without any of his shame is worth more than Oz's opinion of me, however grand and ridiculous it is. Fame is all well and good, Master Boq, but it means little to me without family."

"A noble sentiment," he said, leaning back. "And how are the kids these days?"

"Ravenous little devils, the lot of them," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "The only thing I'm less fit for than politics is mothering unruly children."

"Oh stop it," he said. "You're not fooling anyone. Being a mother _suits_ you. Why look—there's a smile playing on your lips that has _nothing_ to do with my outfit. Face it, Elphaba, you adore motherhood for all of its trials and challenges."

"Don't act so superior," she huffed. "I never said that I didn't love it. Those little terrors have kept Nanny young and Nessarose _continually_ on edge. I'd like to think that that comes from my side, but I suspect they've learned it from their father."

"And how is he?" said Boq, eyebrow raised.

Elphaba gestured helplessly with her hand. "Touring the country… having affairs… whatever men do on business. He'll return next week, and the children are as anxious to have him home as I am."

"I'm surprised you didn't go with him," said Boq. "Take some time away for yourselves."

"As tempting as the diversion may be, there's too much to be done at home. The havoc created by the ungodly weather will set Munchkinland back for _months_. We _have_ talked about taking a trip down to Rush Margins in the fall. I'd like to visit Illswater again, and he'd like to spend a week or so enjoying the hotel bedrooms."

"Sounds like a conflict of interests," he smirked.

"It's more like a conflict of time."

Boq sighed and folded his arms over the ledge again. "A trip to Illswater sounds pretty nice, though I'd have a devil of a time convincing Milla to go there. It's hardly Mossmere or scenic Lake Chorge, but it _is_ an important part of my childhood. Don't you find it rather astounding to consider where life has taken us? Seems like only yesterday we were kids, chasing each other in the mud."

"We're still in the mud," said Elphaba jokingly. "We're just too old to care."

Boq snorted and nodded his head in obvious, silent agreement.

They turned and looked out over the balcony to the bustling streets below. A brougham turned up the nearest corner and stopped at the gates of the palace. The driver called out to the passengers within, who quickly stepped out of the compartment. It was a group of students from Shiz University, probably on some field trip or other. They were easy to spot in their forest green sashes and mischievous, eager expressions.

"Now _there_, Miss Elphie, is a real piece of history," said Boq, straightening up. "A band of students from Shiz University, filled with life and expectations. It does my heart good to see them looking so thrilled and terrified. A part of me even envies them, actually. When was the last time you went back?"

"I can't remember," she said off-handedly. "Those years are all a blur."

"No time for nostalgia or rose-colored memories of our nights in those back-alley bars?"

"Shiz was just a means to an end, Boq. Nothing more or less."

"Oh, come off it, Elphie; it was the beginning of the uprising— the birth of the revolution! Even _you_ can't deny that those streets and buildings should be considered sacred ground. Remember the rally in the spring of thirty-nine when we stormed the gates of parliament? It was a crowd of thousands…_hundreds_ of thousands. I'd never seen anything like it." He looked out over the balcony as if he were painting the details in his mind. "And you were there, standing at the forefront, beautiful and terrible to behold."

"Oh merciful hell, you still think you're a poet. What romantic nonsense! If this is the talk that gets Milla all hot, I'd be better off buying the novel."

"Shove it, Elphaba. You were never any good at hiding your romantic sentimentalities. If you're going to be in town all weekend, we should take a trip up for the day. There's an express train that leaves for Shiz around eight o' clock in the morning. We could be there and back within a day or two… just enough time for a drink at the Peach and Kidneys."

"That sounds lovely," she said despondently, "but I don't think that I'm up for it."

"I took Milla there for Lurlinemas this year to spend some time with Yellowgage," he continued. "Do you know they've erected a statue of Dr. Dillamond near the old science building? It's a pretty swell memorial, actually; they did the old Goat proud."

"Sounds like something Tibbett cooked up with the members of the board." But she had to admit that her heart leapt a little to think of her mentor being honored. "So Yellowgage is attending Shiz? I didn't think you planned on forcing any of your children to attend."

"It was his idea, if you can believe it. I never mentioned it once. But he said he wanted to be like his dad—whatever the hell _that_ means."

"Your children adore you," she said in earnest, "and your history is worth continuing."

"Well, what about yours?" he asked sincerely. "Have any of the kids expressed an interest?"

Elphaba stared at the ledge for a moment, becoming introspective. "The thing about histories is that they are kindest to some when they remain in the past. Shiz is a history that is long best forgotten. I'd prefer that my children made new ones."

"But Shiz is where it started, Elphie."

"It's also where it ended."

Boq gave her a questioning look that was far more personal than she liked. He opened his mouth to say something to her, then obviously decided against it. They both looked down at the handful of students still wandering outside the gate. Elphaba studied each of the girls with a passing, varied interest. She'd actually been one of them, once upon a time; or nearly two decades ago. They were days that might have belonged to another in a different place and life.

"It's been eighteen years," she flatly stated, hardly above a whisper.

"Eighteen what?" he quietly asked.

"Eighteen years since I've been there."

Boq nodded with a sober expression, arms still folded on the railing. "That's quite a long time. You might be surprised just how much you've missed it."

She didn't say anything, preferring to let the silence do all of the talking for her. The minutes stretched out uncomfortably between them, which saddened Elphaba a little. She didn't want it to be like this with Boq; she was far too happy to see him. But even the past had a way of haunting all that remained between them.

"Listen," he said, "why don't you join us for dinner? Milla would absolutely love to see you and so would all of the children. I don't know if Nessa is working late, but the invitation extends to her as well."

"I'm sure she'd be delighted," said Elphaba with a sigh, "but we'll have to take a rain-check. Shell's made arrangements for us to join him for dinner at Avaric's estate. Don't start with me, Boq," she said off his look, "it wasn't _my_ idea. I've never been fond of the Margreave's whiskey or my brother's squandering habits. Besides, Milla would _never_ forgive you for inviting us over on short notice. Why don't we plan for something on Sunday or perhaps the day before?"

"I think that will suit us just fine," he grinned. "An evening with the Thropps—sans Shell."

They remained on the balcony for another half hour, soaking up the rays of the sun as well as each other's company. They were two old friends, standing in a city whose beauty was finer than emeralds. Those who passed them by might have wondered what intimacies they shared, never comprehending the lasting affection that had always bound them together.

* * *

Elphaba didn't fully understand why she purchased the train ticket to Shiz. It seemed every bit as spontaneous and questionable as her visit to the Emerald City. Obviously she'd let Boq persuade her against her better judgment. But there she was— seated at the front of the 8:30 Emerald Express.

The station master had provided her with a cabin reserved for palace dignitaries, and though she'd never grown accustomed to such gratuitous attentions, she was grateful for the privacy it offered. This was a very personal trip; one that would be better spent alone. Not for romantic or wistful reasons, but more for the sake of solace.

Nessarose didn't say anything that morning when Elphaba spoke of her intentions. She might have thought that Elphaba was a fool, or maybe she was actually proud of her. There were things as sisters they never discussed out of mutual respect for each other, and Shiz was one of those precarious subjects that was best left untouched between them. She must have felt something; she had to have wondered what inspired Elphaba's decision. But Nessa chose to keep her own council and simply bid her safe journey. Elphaba wasn't sure if she felt more relieved or insulted by her silence. Some days Elphaba actually missed her sister's hypercritical opinions.

The train sped past the Emerald border and out into the open country. The fields and forests of southern Gillikin rolled by in a haze of green. The sun peeked out through a patch of clouds, shimmering faintly on her window. Elphaba leaned back on the cushions of her seat and drank in the silver morning.

The trip between Shiz and the Emerald City wasn't always so swift and pleasant. She vaguely remembered cramped carriage rides that took days to manage between them. The luxury of a railway was quite a blessing, though it felt a little peculiar. This wasn't the road to Shiz she remembered. Too many things were different.

Elphaba took a tired breath and slowly closed her eyes. She was going back, and she didn't know why she had put it off for so long. _No,_ she thought. That wasn't true. She knew full well what had kept her away. And no matter the distance she'd placed between them, Shiz could still haunt her dreams. But now was the time to confront those demons and hopefully, finally be rid of them. Boq had managed to touch on something when he spoke of their time there together. The place held more than rose-colored memories of summer days from her youth; it was the birth of insurrection in Oz—the beginning of the People's Revolution.

But not all scars carried valiant memories of hard won battles for Oz. Some were deeper… coarser… less visible, and they all bore the name of Glinda.

Elphaba looked down at both of her hands, now free from their gloves. At a certain angle in the light of the sun, she could still see the scars on her palms. Her daughter once asked her about them before when they were working together in the garden. Elphaba told her she had gotten them wet, and the matter was swiftly concluded.

What else was there to say, really? She could scarcely remember the incident herself. Life had a way of effectively diluting the trivial details of her past. But even campaigns and social upheavals weren't enough to remove them completely. Sometimes that required her heart to divorce itself from those memories.

For when she remembered her youth at all, and specifically her time with Glinda, it was passing shades of harsh recollections from an emotionally detached viewpoint. She saw Miss Galinda Arduenna of the Uplands: a striking young girl that was vain and selfish to say nothing of perfectly arrogant. The girl she had met her first year at Shiz and had unintentionally been stuck with. She remembered her coldness, cruelties and scorn; it was the foremost image that came to mind. The haughty sneer… the mocking laughter… the derision in her eyes.

For Elphaba to remember the Glinda who had laughed with her and sought her during the night… the Glinda who leaned tenderly against her while they studied together by firelight… whose hands had touched her with so much reverence as well as frightening hunger…her lips tasting of warm summer days and cool autumns all at once… To remember _that _Glinda would have been impossible if not completely unbearable. If she could have burned those images from her mind, she would have done so years ago.

Of course, in the irony of life and love, memories of the shallow and self-centered girl were every bit as painful as the sweeter ones. So Elphaba never thought much of her at all, and preferred to forget her when she could.

It was remarkable, in a way, to see how indifferent she'd grown in her later years. There was a time when Glinda had nearly destroyed her with grief and unquenchable heartache. The fire that consumed Crage Hall that night could have easily consumed her as well. Physical death seemed much less daunting after the emotional death she had suffered.

But Elphaba had miraculously survived the ordeal by no fault of her own. The one thing that saved her and kept her going was the fact that she wasn't alone. Her friends had sustained, loved, and embraced her no matter her anger and reticence. Nessa was there to comfort and keep her when all Elphaba wanted was death. They were some of the darkest years in her life, yet they were also the most prolific. The pain she felt had fueled the fires of revolution throughout all of Shiz.

It exhausted Elphaba to recall those days spent in secret meetings all over town. She'd rarely slept. She drank excessively. Her words provoked hundreds of thousands. Dillamond's teachings became gospel to the masses of Animals and their supporters. The fires of injustice became a massive conflagration of foaming, searing anger.

They had stormed the gates of the parliament building. They'd spread their message throughout Oz. Elphaba was inspiring a nation to revolt with all that was left in her heart. Rage. Rebellion. Fury beyond comparison. The will to divide and conquer. By the time the Wizard knew what he was up against, it was already too late to turn the tide.

There had been bloodshed, of course. Many lives lost, both of strangers and friends. No one would forget the great Civil War that took place in the scorched Vinkus desert. The resistance fought fiercely from the grounds at Kiamo Ko where Elphaba and her friends had made quarter. The battles were long, the losses were great, and the Wizard continued his destruction.

Who would have guessed that a lost book of spells could have changed things so dramatically? When Elphaba chanced to discover it in Kiamo Ko, that was all that was needed to secure victory. Everything collapsed in an instant for the Wizard and his pitiful, failed regime. On one side stood his half-starved armies, and on the other stood the Witch. No man, woman, or beast could best her on the fields of battle. She fought them like the roaring thunder with powers incomprehensible.

But Elphaba was never completely whole, no matter all that she'd gained. Her friends may have rescued her from the hell of despair, but she'd lost all proper feeling. There wasn't much in her beyond her anger and the cause of the People's Resistance. A string of short and meaningless affairs had only made matters worse.

But the experience taught her an important lesson that had proved to be rather valuable. She learned that romance could be every bit as meaningless as a course in Miss Greyling's sorcery lectures. It was a bitter lesson to learn the way she did, but one that was necessary to move on. Sometimes it took hitting rock bottom before you learned to pull yourself up again.

Yet hope and the possibility of happiness were not as far off as she'd imagined. A little faith, as Nessa once said, was powerful enough to move mountains. The People's Resistance won the war in the great battle for Oz. The Wizard was dethroned and publicly exposed for the toothless imposter he was. From that moment on, everything held the promise of a brighter tomorrow. The people of Oz had been given something greater to hold as their standard.

As for Elphaba, the greatest change had come from within her heart. Time had proven to be the greatest balm that eased the pain of her guilt. She'd discovered love in an unexpected place, surprising even herself. A whole new life with exciting possibilities paved the way to a kinder future.

She opened her eyes and leisurely turned to look out the window again. Yes, she was happy, and it pleased her to remember that without regards to her past.

Some would say that there was more to life than what she'd allowed herself; she could have ruled in the Wizard's place and the people would gladly have followed her. But Elphaba was happy to keep a title that was almost entirely meaningless. She served her people without the cares and concerns of excessive political intrigues. Her sister sensibly ruled beside her, both as an advisor and friend. The two had grown as close as sisters could ever hope to become. And Elphaba loved her husband and children, so there had never been room for regret. This was happiness as best she understood it; a life where she was content.

But _if_ she held some small regret since the night of the Crage Hall fire, she kept it buried deep inside her where her conscience could be free of it. There was more to a lifetime than a few winsome days spent in the agony of youth. So she carried on without turning back, regardless of the truth.

* * *

The train pulled into the University Station around six o' clock in the evening. Some maintenance work at Paxon's Crossing had delayed their arrival unexpectedly. Thankfully, Elphaba wasn't in a hurry and bore the delay rather well. There was plenty of time to wander the town and secure a room at an inn.

She followed the line of passengers out through the station's furthest exit. Few had recognized her in the crowd as she'd dressed inconspicuously for the occasion. They passed through a tunnel and out into the open via the underground stairway. When she stepped out onto the parkway street, the place was almost unrecognizable.

Elphaba stood gaping on the corner sidewalk, trying to gather her bearings. Shiz was as foreign as the day she'd arrived here twenty-two years ago. The entire university district was lined with brand new shops and businesses: Gillikin banks, Quadling breweries, and even a Quoxian restaurant. The city seemed to be coming alive upon the arrival of twilight. She walked a ways up parkway street, entirely overwhelmed by the changes.

But when she stepped back onto the campus grounds, it felt like she had stepped back in time. Shiz University, her alma mater, had hardly changed all. The wind still carried the perfume of pearlfruit, mingled with water from the canal. The lights in the buildings still flickered brightly through all of the narrow windows. Her heart swelled painfully with tender remembrance, but she pushed the feeling down. She didn't come here to give in to grief, nor drown herself in melancholy.

Truthfully, she felt a strange kind of thrill strolling the grounds once again. A handful of things had been added since her day; a few new gardens and buildings. The chattering students and groping couples were still much the same, however. She wandered south through the campus courtyard in a dazed kind of wonder.

Her footsteps carried her around the park and past the student library. There was the fountain— stopped and drained for the maintenance workers to clean. A chorus of crickets took up from the bushes, eager for the advent of night. She reached out and touched the bud of a primrose, stopping for an appreciative sniff.

_Such a romantic_, she heard Crope's voice somewhere at the back of her mind. She smiled softly and stepped back on the path, heading straight for the science building.

The memorial for Dillamond that Boq had mentioned was visible at a far distance off. The statue stood tall in the grassy courtyard, surrounded by a beautiful flower bed. Elphaba approached its circular base and glanced up at the granite spectacle. It was a terrible likeness of her mentor and friend. Dillamond would have approved.

Her lips quirked up into a wistful smile as she read the inscription at the base:

'Though flesh may divide one soul from another, the strength of the heart is the same. We are united beyond the stars and sinews our Maker has created us from.' -Dr. Thaddius Respin Dillamond, 1568 - 1637

Inspiring words that had united a country to stand for something greater. If only Dillamond could have lived long enough to witness the fruits of his legacy. Elphaba sighed as she glanced back up into the granite features of the Goat.

_They may have taken your life, old friend, but your work will always live on. _

She turned away and began to walk towards the last leg of her journey. She had purposefully saved this trek for the last as she knew it would be the most painful. A turn to the right of the garden area… a left just past the shed. Her steps had retraced this path before at least a hundred times.

Finally, the pavement came to an end in a dark and open doorway. She took a step back and glanced straight up at the new Crage Hall building.

It had taken them years to rebuild this place— long after Elphaba had gone. She stared impassively at the structure so different to the one she'd previously known. The pediments and arches looked distinctly more modern in comparison to the rest of the building. The roof was a contemporary nod to the crowning in the northern capital district. A group of girls came laughing through the doorway, clearly in the mood for mischief. Elphaba watched as they all passed by. Of her, they took no notice.

It was strange to think of herself in this place, sharing a room with Glinda. After the fire had destroyed Crage Hall, the students were moved into makeshift dormitories on the other side of town. It had been a horrendous experience for all, especially the privileged girls, but in the end it proved beneficial in forming the People's Resistance. Her friends had been able to gather more frequently at the bars and halls around town. With so many students and so few chaperones, it was ideal for planting the seeds of sedition. Those drafty dorms were much more vivid to Elphaba than her bed in room twenty-two. She guessed that meant that she'd been largely successful in suppressing most memories of Glinda.

Her gaze rose up to one of the towers high above the building. Something within her involuntarily shuddered just at the mere sight of it. After all, the last thing she remembered was watching it burn to the ground. Black nights of those scorching fires still haunted her every so often.

When she visited the remains of the tower after the fire, there was barely anything left. A few charred ashes, a roof razed to pieces, and a blackened stain on the floor. The police and fire officials concluded that a chemical fire had been started. There had been evidence of a shattered oil lamp as well as the remains of two bodies. The fire had ignited everything in the room and killed both of its occupants instantly. The circumstances were highly suspect, as was the nature of the chemicals. It was only later that the victims were identified as Glinda and Madame Morrible. The latter might have given her comfort if the former weren't so terrible.

To this day, students would still tell the story of the famous Mad Witch of the North: a girl who had burned down the Crage Hall building in an act of deranged insanity. The event managed to be the talk of Shiz for several years to come. _What was hidden in the secret tower? Who _really_ started the fire? Was the girl Glinda really a Witch, or was she really a monster? _There were those who believed that her ghost still haunted the corridors of the Crage Hall building. It gave the girls something to squeal about as they chased each other through the hallways.

But Elphaba could never reconcile in her mind why her friend had done what she'd done. The reality of her death had stunned and defeated her from the moment that she'd first learned of it. Was the fire a penance to unanswered guilt from a childhood tragedy of her imagining? Was it a falsely prophetic act of taking upon the mantle of Kumbricia's Familiar? Or was it simply a murder committed in a room hidden within a tower; Glinda's last violent act to exact her revenge on Morrible? Elphaba might have been too convincing in her hatred and fears of the woman. Did Glinda believe that Elphaba would thank her for destroying them both with the building?

Whatever the case, Elphaba concluded that there was madness to the method. Maybe Glinda _had_ been insane as others had often suggested.

She gazed back up at the silent building, now under a cloud of darkness. _If souls exist, I hope, dear Glinda, that yours is finally at rest. _

Elphaba sighed and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her figure. She suddenly felt cold for some strange reason, and not in the least bit comforted. Maybe it was a mistake to have come back to Shiz to dig up these memories again. She stepped on the path and moved down to the gate that exited onto the boulevard.

The backstreets were empty, which was slightly puzzling since the parkway thoroughfare was lively. Elphaba actually wished for some company to distract her from the chill of her thoughts. She was just about to cross the street, when suddenly, she stopped.

Just ahead of her, on the other side of the road, stood a crone with a cart full of trinkets.

The woman was a spindly and horrible creature, covered in tattered robes. She was humming a tune slightly-off key as she dangled a small marionette puppet on the gnarled fingers of her hand. When she looked up and saw Elphaba staring straight at her, she offered a toothless smile.

"Here for a trinket or a marvelous work?" the crone rattled in question.

"You…" said Elphaba in a solemn whisper. "I think I know you, woman."

"Do you indeed? Curious wonder. But yes… I suspect you do. We're old friends, aren't we Miss Elphaba? Saints and sinners you might say." She continued to swing the marionette puppet in a comical, careless manner. It was a blonde little thing in a pretty white dress, bouncing and tumbling on the strings.

Elphaba took a guarded step forward. "Yackle," she said unevenly.

"My oh my, such a clever witch; as sharp as a knife and twice as painful when slipped across the skin. And how _is _the Eminence of Munchkinland doing? You look as ripe as a peach." Her eyes rolled up and down Elphaba's figure, though the cataracts had spoiled them dreadfully. Elphaba felt the blood freeze in her veins just at the awful sight of it. She took a step back as if the beast could violate her with her gaze.

"You gave me a draft," Elphaba staggered, dragging the memory from her mind. "Something was wrong… I remember it vividly… it was supposed to cure the poisoning..." She moved closer to the crone's wooden cart, the hairs on her neck standing stiff.

Yackle craned her neck at an angle, watching her measured progress. "Speak the words trapped in time. Tell us truths remembered."

Elphaba's breath began to quicken. "What curse did you set upon us?"

Yackle shrieked with piercing laughter and wagged her horrible head. "A curse, she says! Oh, blessed Lurline…I declare I shall keel over dead! You made out fine, Miss Eminent thing; the least you could do is _thank _me. Now I'm not one for laurels and praises, but at least give me credit for trying!"

Elphaba's hands curled into her dress, bunching the material together. "Who are you?" she whispered into the wind.

Yackle gritted her teeth. "Why I'm your guardian angel, my darling; the saintly Saint of Elphaba. Others may call me what they will, but the name is nothing without purpose. I'm the mender of fates… your fairy godmother… _whatever_ these fools believe in. I've watched over you since the day I heard of a tiny babe of green. Your life was the portent of _change_, dear Elphaba; it is written in the vein of prophecy. But the killing moon still waxes and wanes, demanding its bloody sacrifice. Praise it all, for yours has been spared in place of the flesh of another."

Elphaba slowly shook her head. "What have you _done_?" she whispered.

"_Done_, dear girl? I did very little. My role was purely _motivation._ I whispered, inspired, and planted the seeds, but _you_ unleashed the dragon. Call it love, or call it murder; it's all the same in the end. The truth belongs to another heart that few can comprehend.

"I'm no witch or cunning sorceress with spells so fine and grand. The _Mad Witch_ lent you a long life to live. I merely lent you a hand."

Yackle winked and placed her arm on top of the wooden cart. Elphaba looked down at the withered appendage and felt her insides constrict. Right as the spot where the arm connected with the woman's knobby wrist, an angry red stump was all that remained of an obviously severed left hand.

Elphaba stepped back with silent revulsion, her breath becoming still. Something within her retched at the sight, though she couldn't place her horror. Why should an amputation unsettle her? What couldn't Elphaba remember?

"What is this?" she darkly muttered, unable to suppress a shudder.

"This?" said Yackle, proud and boastful. "This is your happy ending! A perfect finale to this marvelous story set in the Land of Oz. Rather delightful and very endearing; aren't you thrilled to see it? You've changed the world and given them hope; you are Miss Elphie the Good. What's left to lament in this beautiful tale that we have woven so richly? The ghosts that linger in the stones of these buildings couldn't wish for anything greater. Every story is so much the same, but this one was going to be _different_. Fate demanded the blood of a Witch, so we made_ certain_ that yours would be spared of it."

Elphaba's legs were turning soft, her heart was beating faster. "Who is _we_?" she whispered breathlessly.

Yackle shook her head. "You never understood, did you my dear? You could never grasp the meaning. But perhaps you were never meant to, Miss Elphaba, which is truly your greatest tragedy. Weep not for the loss of beauty or love that has long since faded to dust. Weep for the heart that beats inside you and the ignorance that will keep it."

She clenched her hand into a bony fist before letting go of the strings. The puppet fell on top of the cart, splayed at various angles. Elphaba stood staring into its button-blue eyes before her gaze found Yackle's once again. They stood apart, separate but connected; bound in terrible providence.

"Shall I tell you a story?" said Yackle lightly. "I think you might like to hear it. It's one that's often been told before and will likely be told again. Some things may change with every telling, but others are set in stone. This story begins and ends much the same as it has in ages before. There's a city of Emeralds, a crafty old Wizard, and a Witch that dies in a tower. They call this tale the Wonders of Oz, or perhaps the Lives of the Wicked.

"But you missed the keenest part of all, hidden between its pages. It's also the story of two witches apart, united in sorrow and in love. One of them stands in borrow'd light and portrays the picture of goodness. The other stands as a wicked horror, reviled and cursed by her sins. They live in the shadows of each other's hearts, though both must surely learn, that only_ one_ is allowed to survive…but the other one?

"The other one _burns_."

* * *

_Glinda placed the ghost of a kiss where her fingers had left. Her lips touched Elphaba's with the slightest pressure and warmly in their intent. It was only a moment, too delicate to be realized, but its intensity was enough to burn her. She was unprepared for the temperate contact, and it stole the breath right out of her._

The End


End file.
